


Aux alentours

by yuiaeri



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anxiety, Best Friends, Ciao Ciao shows up starting in ch7 but he's not gonna be there as often as the other 4, Gen, I guess????, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secret Identity, Secrets, Self Confidence Issues, Slow Build, Victor is Yurio's coach, Yuuri and Victor have never met in person before, Yuuri keeps his figure skating career to himself but Phichit n Celestino obv know abt it, but im not complainin, but the focus rn is just them getting to know each other first, i added the vic/yuuri tag bc there's some lowkey flirting n pining (????), sorry victor, the banquet never happened ;;v;;, this somehow ended up being a lot of phichit and yuuri friendship stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-08-30 19:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8546080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuiaeri/pseuds/yuiaeri
Summary: AU where Vicchan dies earlier than in canon and Yuuri, failing to qualify for the GPF, misses his chance to compete against Victor. With his loss in his qualifiers and his season cut early, Yuuri stays in Detroit and gets a part-time job working at their rink's pro shop while he takes a break from professional skating to reevaluate his career and life, and Victor, after winning the GPF, acts on his promise to Yuri and takes it a step further moving them to America to take him under his wing as a coach. When their paths cross, Yuuri finds himself trying to figure out just what influence their presence will have on his life, especially when he finds he can't bring himself to be completely honest about who he is or his skating past.





	1. Gossip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The longer he stared at the photo of Victor the more his eyes glazed over and the image blurred. His dream was to one day skate on the same ice as Victor — to compete against him, and show him the fruit of all his hard work. To be able to stand before him — no, next to him — proud of what he’d accomplished. Now that that was impossible, assuming this whole ordeal was permanent, what point was there in continuing on? He'd already lost his motivation, and now his dreams were slipping out of his grasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll add/change tags as they come up; I'm still trying to figure out how things work;; This is more of a setting things up chapter, so Victor and Yurio should show up in the next
> 
> A pro shop here is the store you find in rinks but I'll go into that more at the end since it's not super important to know abt in this chapter imo o/
> 
> (edit: ch1 has been partially rewritten bc part of the flow of it has been bugging me since writing ch3, but otherwise everything here is the same)

April is the month of spring.

Technically speaking the season had begun a couple weeks ago, but the effects were only just beginning to make themselves known in the chilly city of Detroit – what traces of snow remained melted away and, woken by the warmth of the sun, tiny forests of green grass and brave buds brought colour to the monochrome frosty landscape they succeeded. Spurred by gentle breezes, birds and college students alike filled the city with tales of returning home. Even if the frost still tried to suffocate the colours each night beneath its icy sheet, spring, still determined to pursue and nurture growth, proves to the last remnants of the merciless winter that it is _its_ time.

Yuuri found he couldn’t quite relate. Regardless of the warmth slowly manifesting outside, in the small shop he was confined to he found that he was swathed in a constant chill, a thick sweater his only protection from the cold escaping from the adjacent rinks. And while he had just graduated – a feat that had taken him a full five years over the course of which he had not once returned home – return trips found themselves nowhere in his plans that month, either.

And in Detroit, April came armed with hidden surprises, with a warning maxim not to fall victim to the comforts of the melting sun and blooming greens.

It always snows in April.

Today was fated to be one such day, and the only thing spring could reasonably do was continue to persist its way into the implacable heat of summer.

In spite of the knowledge that what waited for him after work was more cold, Yuuri found odd comfort in the chilly air of the rinks. He figured it a likely effect of all the years he had spent on the ice since he was a child, even if he wasn’t presently gracing one’s surface. As much as Yuuri just wanted to have as little to do with figure skating and rinks, it had drawn him in and kept him captive and close – skating was an enigmatic menace and solace to the irresolute skater – and he had fallen victim to its lure.

And so, here Yuuri found himself in his home rink’s pro shop selling a pair of plastic skate guards to a doting mother of an 8-year-old beginner and explaining how to care for skate blades and how often they ought to drop by for sharpening – work which had quickly grown to become his norm ever since his last qualifier failure.

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri quickly spared a glance at the front of the shop to see Phichit popping his head through the entrance while he continues to explain the sharpening services they offer. Phichit hung off to the side until Yuuri was finished thanking them for their patronage and telling them that they could return anytime to ask questions if they needed any more help before taking their place in front of the counter.

“Yuuri, did you not read my texts?”

“H-Huh? I haven’t, sorry… I’ve been working.” He scratches the back of his head and bites at the inside of his cheek at the serious look his friend was giving him. “Was it important?”

“Very!” Phichit grabbed Yuuri’s hands and pulled him in closer as he leaned eagerly over the counter and Yuuri blinked at the outburst. “C’mon, then! Won’t you look at it now?”

But between the excitement in Phichit’s voice and the ever so familiar glint in his eyes that came with whenever Phichit’d come across something _interesting_ , Yuuri immediately realized that whatever Phichit had been texting him about hadn’t been important in the serious and concerned sense, but just some gossip Phichit had likely gotten his hands on.

With a sigh, Yuuri freed his hands from Phichit’s grip and decided to humour him, fishing out his phone from his pants pocket (not that Phichit would have let him slip out of seeing what he was so excited about); trying to guess what this was all about wasn’t worth the effort and it was far easier to just check and see for himself and get it over with. Gossip was more Phichit’s thing, if their respective SMS activities were anything to go by alone.

“You know, though,” Phichit continued on, resting his chin in the palm of his hands as he watched Yuuri unlock and fumble with his phone. "We both know that this place is usually pretty empty. If you're not on your phone, what _do_ you do to pass the time?"

Yuuri let the question hang; attention locked on the article Phichit had linked him. Phichit didn't push it, his grin widening into a knowing smirk as he watched.

Yuur decided there needed to be a correction: he didn’t care about gossip, but anything about _Victor Nikiforov_ was a glaring exception to that.

" _Falling out with coach leads world renowned figure skater Victor Nikiforov to put his competitive career on hold to pursue coaching in America_...?" Yuuri read out the title, slowly, stupefaction growing with every word he said. There was absolutely no way that could be right, _right_?

"They say he's going to be coaching Yuri Plisetsky."

"E-Eh?! _Yuri Plisetsky?_ The Yuri Plisetsky that won gold in the Juniors?!"

“Yup! He's already got a ton of potential and skill as it is too! Don’t you think it’ll be interesting to see where this goes?”

"Phichit, if this works… h-he'll definitely be a terrifying skater to try and beat. A-And in his first year in the senior division?!"

Phichit sighed. “That means I'll have to work a lot harder, won't I?” As discouraged as Phichit tried to play himself off, he didn't look it at all. Yuuri swore he even caught a glimpse of competitiveness in his eyes.

Yuuri didn’t spare a second more of thought towards bringing that up, instead eagerly returning to reading over the article. His interest had already been piqued by the mere mention of his idol, but now he was completely absorbed in the text, trying his best to not miss a single lick of information.

From what he could grasp, Victor and Yuri's ex-coach Yakov hadn't exactly been forthcoming with information. Their fallout – if there had actually been one – had been enough to send Victor packing, but from what he knew about Yakov's personality and his relationship with Victor (it was no secret that Victor tended to get on his nerves, legend or not), Yuuri didn’t find it all that surprising that they would fight yet even he had to admit that something about it all felt a little off, a little extreme. But without any insight, anything would seem that way, he supposed. Aside from their fallout, the article mentioned a promise Victor had made to the younger skater should he win gold in the juniors without any quads, how he would choreograph him a routine and take the teen under his wing for his debut in the senior division, and went on to discuss the author's predictions for the coming competitions, the state of Victor's career and previously rumoured retirement, completed only by a slew of criticisms.

Figuring Yuuri was nearing the end of the article, Phichit decided it was as good as any a time to break the silence that had grown between them, leaning further over the counter with a smirk and propped up on his arms so that he was hovering only inches away from Yuuri’s face.

"Rumour has it he's in Detroit."

Yuuri whipped his head up from his phone, wide eyed and gaping.

There was no way he could have possibly heard that right.

_Detroit_ was they lived, where _he_ lived, and the article surely hadn't mentioned _that_ , only that he was in America, and really, there was no way he was actually in the same city as his idol, as _the Victor Nikiforov_. Yuuri scrolled frantically through the article – up and down and up again – trying to catch where he'd missed this, even resorting to searching for the city in the page only to come to the same fruitless end.

"Of course, it's only a rumour," Phichit continued, leaning back and letting his feet retouch the floor. " _Apparently_ a fan recognized Victor when they were passing through arrivals to the baggage claim— but the two of them could have flown to another city since. Not to mention that that was a week ago. _But_ I'm willing to bet, Yuuri, that if he's passing through here, he's staying here."

"Victor hasn't posted anything about even being in America yet, though! Usually he'd be jumping at the opportunity to post about being in another country, wouldn't he?"

"That's true... Oh! Well, that Plisetsky kid is only fifteen, right? So Victor'd be acting as his guardian while they're here too; maybe he wanted to make the transition easier on him? They'll have to make a formal announcement soon enough though now that this article's been published,” he said, poking at Yuuri’s phone. “It’s a big scoop that got hidden under everyone’s noses~ Reporters from all sorts of magazines and newspapers and TV shows will probably be looking into this now!"

That, Yuuri figured, at least made some sense. It'd taken him quite some time himself to get adjusted to life in Detroit when he'd first moved here five years ago and he was only a few years older then than Yuri was now. If anything, he imagined it would only be harder on the kid.

He let his attention fall back onto his phone, eyes fixed on the photo of Victor in his elegant, princely outfit from the Grand Prix. On one hand, he was thrilled. Sure, Detroit was big, but he was living in the same city as the man he had admired ever since he was little. And the other, well, it filled him with dread. Was this really the last he'd see of Victor's career? Was this the end of _his_ career? Granted, he'd already been inclined towards his own retirement after his failure to qualify for the Grand Prix Final. Phichit didn't know this; he'd only told him he was taking a break this year to figure things out. And he was, really, but things hadn't been going so smoothly for him. With the death of his dog back home, his embarrassing performance, and his current state of health with his stress eating and irregular sleep schedules, his motivation to skate had taken a massive blow. He'd trained hard in America for five years, and what did he have to show for it? Sure, he had graduated from college, but the main reason he'd come all this way was to train so he could make a name for himself in the figure skating world. And he had screwed that up, unless you counted _embarrassing_ himself for the whole world to see.

The longer he stared at the photo of Victor the more his eyes glazed over and the image blurred. His dream was to one day skate on the same ice as Victor – to compete against him, and show him the fruit of all his hard work. To be able to stand before him – no, next to him – proud of what he’d accomplished. Now that that was impossible, assuming this whole ordeal was permanent, what point was there in continuing on? He'd already lost his motivation, and now his dreams were slipping out of his grasp.

Phichit narrowed his gaze as he watched Yuuri’s features turn depressed and dark. Yes, he had wanted to incite something in Yuuri – he knew how much Yuuri admired Victor, he’d lost count of how many time he’d seen Yuuri’s eyes light up at the name and how animated and motivated about skating Yuuri would get when he’d gush over his idol – but this… this Yuuri that was retreating back into his shell, enthusiasm thinning with a frown where his big smile ought to be, this wasn’t what he had wanted. Anything, anything but this.

"…You know, if you ever want to start skating again, we'd all be glad to have you back," Phichit said softly, sincere and his voice laced with concern.

Yuuri let the silence continue on for a few beats, before he managed to muster up the strength to reply.

"Thanks, but... I think I still need more time."

"Mm... Yeah, time's good. Take as much as you need. We'll still be here. And I’ll always be here for you if you need me." He gave him a reassuring smile. It was obvious Yuuri still had a lot on his mind, and now wasn't the time to pry. "That's enough surprises for one day. Your shift ends soon right? What do you want for dinner? My treat."

"H-Huh? Well..." Yuuri stammered at the offer. "Um, I-I don't know... We could order pizza when we get home.... m-maybe...?"

"Alright, sounds like a plan." Phichit reached out and gave Yuuri's shoulder a light squeeze. "I'll be waiting in the lobby for you, 'kay?"

Yuuri nodded and Phichit gave his shoulder a final pat before reaching down to grab his sports bag and head towards the exit. They exchanged temporary goodbyes and disappeared from each other’s line of sight. Yuuri let the weak smile he'd flashed Phichit fade, leaning backwards against the back counter with a sigh.

_Just what could his future possibly have in store for him now…?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pro shop (when it comes to rinks) in my experience has basically just been the little store where you can get your skates sharpened/repaired and they sell some equipment for people that pass through like skate/mouth guards, tape, sticks, bottles, hats & gloves, etc, stuff that people might be missing/stuff that might break. You can find some skates and helmets n other bulkier equipment too but not with a lot of variety since for the most part if you're going to a rink you either have your own equipment already or are renting skates etc from rentals, and if you're buying equipment you'd likely be going to a bigger sports store. Of course, you can find full out stores in bigger rinks nowadays but it's been a really really long time since I've last stepped foot in a rink so I'm keeping it small to make things easier since I'm just working from little me's memories for the stuff on these things so take everything with a grain of salt too. And I promise this whole fic isn't going to revolve around the shop as a setting;;;;;;; I want this to be more of a slice of life and Yuuri opening up kinda thing, but we'll see where this heads :"D
> 
> This is pretty much my first time really trying to write anything like this, so if any if parts seem weird advice on how to make things flow better would be appreciated;; Also not beta'd, and I'm more used to referring to the Yuris as Yuri and Yurio but since Mari's not here to give him the nickname, I'm using Yuuri and Yuri so I'll do my best to catch myself if I find myself slipping into the other set in the story


	2. Chapter 2

Just as Phichit had predicted, a couple days later Victor made his formal announcement. Phichit had burst into the bathroom the moment the news had popped up on his feed, dismissing Yuuri's shrieking insisting that him walking in on Yuuri in the shower wasn't as big a deal as he was making it out to be; they'd been living together for a few years now and they'd already seen each other changing and showering in the change rooms back when they were still training together. Besides, he was covered by the shower curtain anyway so what was the big deal? Had it been any other day, Yuuri would have persisted in convincing Phichit to get out and just show him whatever he had to show him once he was out of the shower, but decided to let it slide just this once when Phichit told him it had to do with Victor and took the phone that had been gracelessly shoved in his face.

"He... He's really in Detroit," Yuuri mumbled, voice so faint Phichit barely heard him over the loud patter of the shower. The news came straight from Victor Nikiforov's instagram account, accompanied by a photo of him grinning ear to ear, arm wrapped around an irritated looking Yuri Plisetsky. Their background wasn't distinct enough to say for certain that they were in Detroit, but the confirmation came in the paragraphs that followed in the caption.

The pair had been busy getting settled in Detroit, and while they had yet to find a rink to skate at, they were making arrangements and were excited to start their training season soon. They had plans to make a big impact, and promised everyone supporting the two of them that they'd see a new side to Yuri that would have them on the edge of their seats. Victor began gushing about all the sights they'd seen, the food they'd eaten, the places he wanted to visit while he was here. It sounded more like a travel diary than a release, but it was clear that just like his ex-coach Victor had no intention of delving into the reasons as to why he'd come all the way to America or why he had had a falling out with Yakov. He was here and he had a slew of surprises up his sleeves, and that was all anyone needed to know. And despite his curiosity, Yuuri was fine with that. It came with Victor’s charm. He joked about how he and Yuri were glad that this was all finally out of the bag since it meant they could get back to regularly posting to social media, and that Yuri was currently looming over his shoulder complaining about him typing that and don't you dare write that you can't let them know how many photos I've been taking I have my cool image to keep and oh god Victor don't you DARE post that.

Yuuri couldn't suppress a laugh and it echoed against the tiles. In the time it had taken him to read Victor's caption, the man had already posted a new photo and Yuuri scrolled up while still trying to contain his laughter and failing miserably, and Phichit watched on with a smile on his lips. It was a photo of Yuri, somehow more irritated than in the last photo, face red with embarrassment, while Victor's laughing was obvious from the shakiness of frame, and captioned only with "he wants me to take it down, but it's important news ;P"

"I guess we'll be seeing a lot more of them now," Yuuri managed between breaths, Phichit nodding in agreement and not being able to help himself from laughing too.

That had been two days ago.

If he had known that 'seeing him' would be so literal, he would have rather never said it at all if it meant he wouldn't be standing here right now, frozen solid at the sight of Victor Nikiforov himself standing right in front of him in his little pro shop. Of all the rinks in Detroit, they had chosen to skate at his.

His fingers curl tight around the counter's edge. If he had the words to say, he didn't have the strength to say them. His body was clamming up. Victor is looking at him, eyes intimidatingly soft. If he looked at them a second longer, what was left of his strength would certainly be devoured. From the door, the white of his knuckles, to exposed collarbones, his gaze finally settles on the poster of a hockey player adorned with "you can do it" in large, bold letters half-hidden by Victor's imposing figure — he fears losing whatever ounce of collectedness he had left in him.

But Victor's presence is unmoving. Yuuri swallows hard. Of course it is. He wouldn't be here if he didn't have some purpose in mind.

Victor tilts his head to the side (he knows only because more of the poster becomes visible) and he speaks, voice gentle, soothing. Yuuri feels like he’s being ripped apart from the inside.

"Do you sharpen skates?"

If it were possible to dig his fingers any deeper into the countertop, he digs them so. He opens his mouth to answer but makes the mistake of looking the man in the eyes and finds himself frozen solid once again, mouth agape. He must have stood like that a moment too long because Victor's eyes are questioning him and he promptly shuts his mouth and nods his head in big rapid sweeps. Probably a little too desperately.

He feels his face growing hot.

And Victor just smiles that same old kind smile as if Yuuri wasn't falling apart before him, and oh how he would just pick up his feet and run out that exit right now if he wasn't caged in by the very same counter that was giving him the space between them that he needed to breathe.

The man sets two pairs of skates on the counter with a thud that brings Yuuri back to his senses. He directs his gaze there, grateful for the distraction, until he realizes Victor was describing how he wanted the skates sharpened because _of course_ a professional like Victor would have specific preferences when it came to these things, and he rushes to scribble down every spec onto a pad of paper as fast and as accurately as possible. After that display of his, there was no way he would be able to muster up the courage to ask Victor to repeat himself a second or, god forbid, a third or fourth time.

He gives the man another nod confirming that he had gotten everything down, his movements more controlled than earlier. He hopes it’s a sign he’s regaining his composure. And right now he really needs it.

Thankfully, Yuri enters and Victor turns to greet him energetically. Yuuri takes full advantage of this distraction to grab the skates, the pad, and his bulky headphones and hurries to the back of the room. Here, Yuuri feels like he can finally breathe, and his chest lightens when he notices Victor is too absorbed in conversation to possibly walk over to where he now is.

Still, he puts on his headphones and scrolls through his phone for something to soothe his nerves, bouncing from foot to foot to get his blood circulating again. He may have lost his chance to compete against Victor, and he may have screwed up his skating career, but right now, in this moment, he would not allow himself to mess this sharpening up.

He takes one last breath, exhales, and presses play, letting the crescendos and diminuendos of the harps lift his unease and ground him, heart beating in sync with the steady boom of the bass drum.

 

❅❅❅

 

Victor and Yuri were still chatting at the front of the shop when Yuuri finishes sharpening the skates. The whirring of the machine has since ceased, but their conversation remained impossible to make out over the music still playing in his ears. Yuuri found he preferred it that way, but soon enough, he would need to return to where they stood and he wouldn't be able to get away with staying silent. By now, he had calmed down considerably, and closing his eyes he takes in a series of controlled breaths, searching himself for the strength he had within him. If there’s anything he’s capable of, it’s this.

He picks up the pad and jots the specs for their skates into a memo on his phone, making sure he won't forget them for the future times the two would undoubtedly return (unless he did a completely horrible job, but he was confident enough by now in his skills that he didn't want to consider it) and pauses his music. Lowering his headphones, he comes to the realization that there was no way he would have been able been able to understand their conversation in any case; the two skaters are chatting animatedly in Russian.

Yuuri cradles the skates in his arms determined to make it in one trip, and makes his way back to the front. He feels his chest tighten as he approaches, and sneaks in a breath as he places the skates on the counter, the two Russians letting their conversation fade with his arrival. He taps their service into register and somehow manages to look in their direction.

"For two pairs of figure skates th-that'll be sixteen dollars, but if I can interest you in a sharpening card you can get f-fifty percent off every tenth sharpening," he squeaks. Well, at least he had managed to speak at all. "It's free."

"So the little mouse speaks after all," Victor laughs, and Yuuri feels his stomach sink further. "Thank you, I'll take one. By the way, you take cards, right?" He takes out a black credit card from his pocket and lifts it so Yuuri can see what kind it was.

"Y-yes!" He blurts out a little too loud, and quickly sets things up for him. While Victor is paying he takes out a card and stamps it with a happy face that only seems to mock him. When their transaction is complete he slides the card across the counter (a smiley face is better suited to Victor, anyway) and steps back. It’s almost over, he promises himself.

"Every time you come here to get your skates sharpened, show us this card and we'll give you a new stamp," he says, pointing at the card. This time, he manages to speak relatively like his normal self. "And when you fill up the card we'll give you a new one."

Victor nods and picks up the card, flipping it over in his hand. He tucks it in his coat pocket and picks up the skates, handing the smaller pair to Yuri before turning back to look at the man behind the counter.

"Thank you. I'll be sure to make good use of it." He flashes Yuuri another smile, and once again Yuuri finds he can't face it directly.

He shuts his eyes and half-bows as he wishes them both a good evening, a subconscious act brought about by his nerves. He remains like that for a moment and much to his horror when he opened his eyes there is Victor, still standing before him smiling with that warm smile. He jumps back in shock.

"Are you by any chance a fan of mine?" Victor leans in closer and Yuuri feels the heat returning to his face, his body tensing up. Victor beams. "You are! Do you want a photo? Hey! Yuri! Let this young man give you his phone and take a photo of us together, okay?"

Yuuri reminds himself that that name isn't his and shakes his head.

"No! No, no, it's okay, it really is. I don't want to waste your time." He does want one, but not like this.

Victor's smile falls a little and he gives Yuuri a look that he swears says Victor could read his true feelings.

"Are you sure?"

"R-Really, it's fine..." He couldn't even look at him anymore. He really was embarrassing.

"Tch!" Yuri tugs hard on Victor’s sleeve to get his attention. "Oi! Victor, we have better things to do than stand around doing nothing here! C'mon!"

He gives the sleeve another tug and begins dragging the older man towards the door with a surprising amount of strength. Victor glances back and forth between the two of them and gives Yuuri an apologetic smile.

"Maybe next time then!" He shouts as he disappears through the doors. Yuuri can hear the younger skater yelling at Victor as the man's laughter fades away.

He slumps over the counter with a tired grunt. It’s at times like these that he’s thankful the other rink staff let him use the ice after hours because he really, _really_ needed to clear his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's almost 3am now but I like how this came out so I hope you all did too~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took quite a bit longer since I ended up writing at least four or five different starts to this chapter, some of which got merged in bits and pieces here, and one of which was a completely new situation around the day after the last chapter and probably could have been the start to a whole different chapter of it's own. But I had started that one with the intention of continuing into the segment below right after but this chapter is already long as it is (almost as long as the last two combined;;;;;) and I also ended up scrapping another scene I wanted to add inbetween bits here too ... and this chapter also jumps around a bit already (speaking of which hopefully all of this doesnt make this chapter too choppy;;;)
> 
> There's a bit of a time skip here between ch2 and ch3 because I kinda wanna get things rolling a bit faster o/

It would become easier the second time, and each time after that. Yuuri convinced himself of that much. And it was, to an extent. The initial panic and shock had since been subdued, and now that he knew for a fact that the Russian duo would be there permanently (at least for this season) there was no longer any fear of being caught off guard by their appearance in the pro shop. He could prepare himself mentally.

By the second time Victor had passed through, Yuuri had managed to hold his nerve long enough to actually talk to Victor properly (though he was still struggling to find the right volume and not stumble over his words). Victor had already long forgotten about the subject of photos and while a part of him tinged with disappointment, Yuuri didn't dare bring it up again — there was only so much he could handle right now. He had his suspicions that Victor hadn't forgotten about his inclination towards Yuuri being a fan of his, but Victor hadn't pressed it any further after their first meeting either.

Victor was friendly enough. He still hadn’t bothered to learn his name — and if he had, the man still insisted on calling him Mouse — but he always entered with a big smile singing a cheerful greeting and he always left in much similar a way, usually with a wink thrown in the mix forcing Yuuri's brain to immediately need to reboot. If not the fact that he was dealing with Victor Nikiforov in the flesh, the sheer overwhelming nature of the man's outgoingness was enough to put Yuuri at a loss for words on its own which, much to Yuuri's embarrassment and displeasure, also seemed to amuse Victor. The worst part was that Yuuri couldn't quite figure out if the man was doing this on purpose to tease him just to get a kick out of it, or if Victor was just as oblivious and friendly as he was said to be forgetful. Or maybe it was some weird mix of the two.

Yuuri was thankful that Victor never followed him to the back end of the shop when he handed him their skates, staying near the front chatting with a seemingly always irritated Yuri until the teen decided coming in was a one-man's job (or perhaps his irritation with Victor played its part as well) and Victor started dropping in alone, still opting to loiter near the front, attention typically drawn to the shelf of assorted skating related magazines they carried. It was Yuuri's only chance to steady his heart and pull himself back together during their short meetings, conveniently placed right between Victor showing up and leaving and taking up the bulk of their time together. Small talk was relatively one-sided, mostly because Yuuri kept stumbling over his words in reply, but he felt his anxieties slowly melting away and he had stopped freezing up completely. Whenever Victor told him about the little things happening in his life Victor made seem as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do and Yuuri wasn't just some stranger in Victor's life — only to have all his nerves come crashing right back down upon him twofold when Victor'd ask if he was okay and all he could muster were strained I'm alrights as he brought himself back to reality. And Victor would give him that _look_ filled with doubt like he could read through Yuuri's white lies, before settling back into his usual smile and continuing on with his stories.

Even if Yuuri was somehow able to talk to him now, he was still scared to be near Victor.

Yuuri flips idly through that week's issue of a magazine they had stocked in shop, one he had seen Victor reading when he had stopped by the day prior. To no surprise, Victor graced its cover; they had a full length feature on his big new move. Yuuri takes his time for once, skimming it over tantalizingly slow, then rereads the lines again with more attention, letting his gaze linger on the photographs a little too long and finding he needs to reread the lines again — he had already read almost a dozen similar articles published since Victor had materialized in front of him. Each had their own opinions, yet each was the same rehash of information. The same rehash of Victor.

He can hear the silence of the late hours lazily swallow up the ambiance. There are far less people present at this hour than there are during the day and, glancing at the time on his phone, there’s a little less than two hours left before his shift is over. Phichit's booking had started in the afternoon and would have ended maybe ten, fifteen minutes ago, which doesn't leave much else for the night, aside from Victor's booking to end and an adult hockey league team's practice to start later. He suppresses the urge to yawn and turns to the next page of his magazine. Phichit and his rinkmates usually dropped by before their sessions started when they needed sharpenings before heading off for practice, and the team scheduled that evening stopped by rarely enough since they only booked once a week and came in more often for forgotten tape than sharpenings (and they could easily get those from each other). That just left Victor and Yuri as possible customers for the night, but with Victor having dropped by yesterday Yuuri figures it’s unlikely for them to come two days in a row instead of their usual routine of every other day. Which meant there really wasn't any real reason for Yuuri to be there, aside from the fact that he was getting paid and it was quiet and he had this time to himself, and he wasn't about to complain about any of that.

His phone vibrates — Phichit had insisted that he at least set it to that and not silent — and he opens it to see a message from his roommate saying that he'd be dropping by soon. Yuuri replies with a quick 'OK' before slipping his phone back into his pocket, and closes the magazine he was reading so he can place it back on the shelf with the others.

 

❅❅❅

 

"Where do you keep the brooms?"

"Wh-What?" Yuuri squints at Phichit. Not even a proper greeting, and he was completely serious. Determined even.

"Brooms. You know, sweep sweep," he replies with as much seriousness as before, the slight inkling of a laugh on his lips, miming sweeping the floor. "One of the groups cancelled last minute and they told me to tell you you could close up early and we could use their rink if we help clean up."

Yuuri shot him an even more puzzled look.

"Yuuri, we're going skating," he says with a soft laugh, his amusement finally managing to escape his lips.

"I-I got that much," Yuuri stammers, "but aren't you tired? You've been skating all day. B-Besides, I didn't even bring my skates today."

"Like that's stopped you before," he huffs, making his way to lean over the counter. "I'll even pay for your rentals. _Please?_ You're always off skating on your own after your shifts; it's been so long since we last went skating together! I miss skating with you! _C'mon_ , please? _Pretty_ _please?_ "

Yuuri opens his mouth to make up some other excuse but closes it when he realizes he doesn't really have _any_. And really, he did want to skate with Phichit again too.

"Or are you maybe hoping a certain figure skating legend will drop i—"

"Nononono!! I—" Phichit was grinning now. "I was thinking of how I miss skating with you too," Yuuri manages.

" _Right_..."

"Phichit! I'm serious!" He is. Phichit just laughs.

"I _guess_ I'll just _have_ to take your word for it," he teases. "So, then —"

"Brooms."

Phichit hums.

"There's a storage closet in the hallway near the front. Do you think you can find it on your own? I'll have to close up in here first."

Phichit nods.

"I think I know the one. See you soon?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I promise to keep some of the more fun dirt for you~" Phichit chimes, sending a wink and a stuck out tongue in Yuuri's direction.

Yuuri laughs as he shoos the other out with a wave of his hand.

 

❅❅❅

 

When they pass by the pro shop, Yuri is still grumbling about Victor's eccentric coaching style. Victor had humoured him back while they were still on the ice, laughing and retorting with jabs of his own, but now he was paying the teen no mind, letting him ramble on until he (hopefully) tired himself out. And then the teen would pick the topic back up again the next day, and the day after that, just as he had done every day since they'd started training in Detroit. Victor coan't help but chuckle a bit to himself when he finds himself sympathizing with Yakov who had been coaching Yuri for years.

He stops in front of the closed doors of the shop. He could've sworn they were usually still open at this hour.

"The lights are off."

" _Hah?_ " Yuuri stops as well. "Who _cares_? They must've just closed early or something. We can sharpen my skates tomorrow. Were you even listening to a word I was saying?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a terrible coach, right?" Victor hums, tired. _Just where did Yuri get all his energy from, anyway?_

Yuri huffs and continues on the way towards the front doors, mumbling as he struggles to remember just where he'd left off in his little rant. Victor shakes his head, letting a small smile pull on his lips, and follows the teen.

Between Yuri's exasperated words, Victor thought he could hear the sound of voices. As they get closer, the sound becomes more distinct — laughter, loud and joyous, accompanied by the sounds of wood clanging against each other and falling to the ground — and echoes in the otherwise empty lobby. There’s no one else there that he can see besides Yuri, and he has no faces he could match the voices with. One had started cheering, proclaiming himself the winner of nothing in particular while the other protests the unfairness of the whole affair between laughs.

He realizes the sounds were coming from the hallway off to their left.

Victor spares a glance down the hall, curious as to what had sparked this development at this late hour especially.

He recognizes the Thai boy, Phichit, immediately; he was one of the other figure skaters training for the Grand Prix he has been introduced to when he had started skating at the rink. The other, he doesn’t recognize — mostly because his face and body are in the process of being entangled by Phichit's limbs into some kind of bizarre hug-tickling mess. When he finally gets a good look at the guy's face, he can’t help but stare at the way his smile seems to radiate, the way his eyes crinkle every time he laughs... He still doesn’t recognize the guy, and he can't quite place it, but there’s something somewhat _familiar_ about that face. Yet he’s certain that if he _did_ know the unknown, with that face overflowing with happiness, he wouldn’t have forgotten it.

He must have stopped still at the sight because Yuri had gotten ahead of him and was grumbling for Victor to hurry it up, breaking Victor out of his spell. He mouths to Yuri that he'd gotten the message, and spares one last glance at the pair of friends. Then it dawns on him when he sees the unknown push up his glasses the reason that face had felt familiar...

He covers his mouth as he bites his lip and quickens his pace to catch up to Yuri, leaving the sounds of laughter behind.

_So that timid mouse can make those kinds of expressions too, huh...._

 

❅❅❅

 

"Hey, Yuri, do you think I'm intimidating?"

"Huh?" Yuri tears his attention away from his phone to glance over at Victor in the adjoining room. He can't see the man's face; his back is to Yuri, he’s looking into the fridge. From the tone of his voice however, he can tell that his expression is likely completely serious. He sighs and sinks back into the couch, slightly irritated. "Where is this coming from all of a sudden?"

"Just curious."

Victor takes a beer out of the fridge, turning it over to inspect the label. The consideration is superficial; there isn't any real selection to make from the mostly empty fridge — cooking for himself when he lived alone was easy, cooking for a fifteen-year-old teenage boy who only answered to questions of what he wanted to eat with whatevers and was quick to complain about just about anything was not — and his thoughts linger more on the man he had dubbed Mouse than on food. Ever since he had noticed how uncomfortable and a nervous wreck the guy had been after the first time he had dropped by, he had started giving the guy his space when he moved to the back since he seemed to relax considerably afterwards. He had pegged it to just nerves and shyness, but he was starting to wonder if this had more to do with _him_ than the mouse.

He closes the door and makes his way over to the couch, motioning to Yuri (who had decided to ignore his question) to scooch over. The boy groans but complies, bringing in his legs up closer to his chest so Victor can sit down next to him.

"Well?" Victor presses, opening his bottle.

"Well you're a pain in the ass," Yuri starts, not looking up from his phone, "childish, obnoxious, irresponsible, narcissistic, have no sense of boundaries, and your dog won't stop jumping on top of me in the morning."

"...That's not what I asked." Victor chuckles and takes a sip of his beer. "I wouldn't have thought you'd bare such strong feelings for me though, Yuri. I mean, you practically _begged_ me to be your coach, didn't you~"

"I did not!" He shouts, sending a sharp glare at Victor. " _You're_ the one that promised me and then completely forgot about it! Or did you already forget that too?! And I never asked you to become my coach! I just wanted you to choreograph me my programs!"

"But you have to admit this is a whole lot more fun, no~?" Victor leans forward and rests his chin in his palm, beaming an amused grin at Yuri. He lets out a pained groan and throws his head back against the armrest, blocking out the image of Victor from his eyes with his hands.

"HELL NO!"

The man lets out a hearty laugh and leans back into his side of the couch, before taking another swig of his beer. They sit in silence to the sound of Makkachin eating kibble and the swishing of beer for some moments before Yuri shifts, sitting himself up straight with a loud sigh.

"You're enthusiastic and friendly and some people might say that makes you approachable, I find it annoying because I _know_ you and now I’m stuck dealing with you on the ice _and_ at home, others might just not know how to handle your presence... and people like Mila and Yakov know you too and _they_ definitely don’t find you intimidating. You’re more like an idiotic, energetic, uncontrollable child.” He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

“It... It doesn't matter how friendly or nice you are, you're the best figure skater in the world right now, and that title is intimidating enough on its own. So just forget about it already. There are always gonna be people that are intimidated by you."

"Huh." Victor blinks at Yuri's words. _So it just came down to how well a person knew you…?_

It’s simple enough, but everything suddenly makes sense. They'd only been training at the rink a week now, and it wasn’t like he was spending all his time in the pro shop either. But the guy was warming up to him anyway, however painfully slow the process seemed.

A wide smile spreads across his face and he envelopes the boy in a tight hug, barely avoiding spilling his beer against the thrashing of Yuri's limbs.

"I see! Thank you!!!"

"Gyarrghhh!!! Let! Me! Go! You old man!! I'll take it back!"

"You can take it back but I'll always know in my heart how you're such a good kid!"

"Ahhhhhhhh!!!! Sh-shut up!!!"

_He just needed to keep being himself, and all that left was time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finals start in a week for me and continue through December, so I'm gonna try pacing myself more when it comes to updates here and with fixing up ch4 and figuring things out from there on out.


	4. Chapter 4

Victor pokes his head into the pro shop, smiling to himself when he sees that it’s the younger Asian man tending to the shop and not the older white gentleman he usually spots in the mornings before practice. He hasn't noticed Victor's head hovering in the doorway and, after the sight he'd unwittingly shown Victor the previous night, Victor find his gaze lingering on the man behind the counter.

He’s slouched over the tabletop with a hand lacing itself in his messy dark hair, absorbed by something on his phone, and from the headphones hanging around his neck Victor manages to pick out the faint sounds of violin and piano mingling in the air. There’s something refreshing about seeing the man so relaxed; a much welcomed contrast to the timid facet of the man Victor seemed to bring out of him, though there’s a part of Victor that also wished to see more of the joyous side he'd been graced with before. But that would never happen if Victor continued to stand there in silence, and frankly he doesn't want to consider how far back it would set him if the man noticed he'd been watching him from afar.

And so he puts on his biggest smile and steps into the room, reaching for the man's attention with a wave and a melodious greeting.

"Good evening, little mouse~!"

The man startles but quickly seems to relax just a bit when he looks up from his phone, returning a hello of his own with a weak but genuine smile. Victor approaches the counter as he always does and sets down a cloth bag containing his and Yuri's skates, but his hand makes no signs of moving to unclench the mouth of the bag.

"I had wanted to drop by the other night, but it looks like I missed you."

He had tried to sound friendly but he must have screwed up somewhere, somehow, because the man's eyes widen and his smile, as weak as it had been to begin with, drops, and Victor swears his skin seemed to be wanning.

"Ah! I... I-I'm, I'm really sorry for the inconvenience," he stammers, fidgeting with his fingers and looking anywhere but at Victor. "We... Um, we tend to... We tend to close early if the rink's pretty empty and... And your session was the only one, um, it was the only one active, and our last for the day... a-and uh... th-there wasn't really anyone else here aside from the staff, so..."

 _Ah_ , so he thought he was here to complain.

Victor chuckles.

"It's fine~ I'm not mad, _really_." He gives Yuuri a warm smile, unbeknownst to his averted eyes, and reaches into his bag to set a couple pairs of figure skates on the tabletop along with his stamp card.

The sound catches Yuuri's attention and he turns to the source, catching a glimpse at the taller man's face. His features are gentle, and even if Yuuri's doubt wanted to persist on thinking otherwise, it really did seem like the man wasn't angry at him. Yuuri's body relaxes slightly and he lets out a relieved sigh at the revelation, but his gaze soon grows distant, furrowing his brows in confusion when he notices the card laid out in front of him.

He picks it up. Four stamps. It matched up with the number of times he'd served Victor.

"Wait, but..." His voice trails off and he squints at the card trying to make sense of it all. "I-If you needed your skates sharpened yesterday, why didn't you get them sharpened this morning before you started practice?"

"Well, to be perfectly honest," Victor says, propping his elbows up on the counter and resting his chin in his right hand while gesturing absently with the other, "my blades still felt good enough last night to get through another day of practice. Even every other day feels a bit much sometimes, you know." He lets slip a soft laugh and brings his left hand down onto the counter, and continues, tilting his head to the side with a shrug. "It was for Yuri's sake that I passed by."

The younger man's head shoots up at the name and he looks at Victor, expectant, lips parting slightly. And then he shut them. Looks down and away, blinks, and deflates.

"He must be working very hard," he says quietly, with little fervor.

Victor finds the man to be somewhat of an enigma, but resumes anyway.

"Mmhm, but his shitty attitude needs work. If he insists on shoving his skate care on me then I'm going to go about it how I want to~! ...Still, he did yell at me a little this morning for not getting them done." He laughs. "It's almost adorable."

"H- _Huh_?"

"No matter," Victor says, patting a smaller skate and causing Yuuri to swallow his question of asking how any of that lead to Yuri being adorable of all things, "Adorable as he might be, Yuri needs his skates sharpened and I'd prefer to avoid his scolding if I can, and my skates could use a touch-up too. Though if you have any advice on how I might get him to do this himself Mouse, you’d be a lifesaver~”

"If I can think of anything, I'll be sure to keep it to myself then."

"Oh?"

"I-I mean..." Yuuri's face flushes when he realizes what he'd said. "I mean, he sounds like he wouldn't be the friendliest person to, um, w-work with and I um, I like chatting with you so—"

Victor raises a brow and leans in closer.

"You like chatting with me?" He echoes excitedly with a big smile.

"N-No! Well, y-yes, but—"

 

Yuuri becomes frantic, head darting from side to side until he remembers the skates in front of him and he scoops them up.

"I-I should really get a start on sharpening these I'm so sorry!" He says rapidly, stringing the words together so closely that the distinction almost wasn't there, and hurries to the back of the room.

Victor watches as Yuuri sets the skates back down and starts up the bulky machine next to him. He’s disappointed that their little chat had gotten cut short, but hearing that his presence wasn't entirely unwelcome (he liked chatting with Victor, _liked_ ) more than made up for it. He decides to keep pushing to see how far the other would let him, and walks over to stand in front of the machine he'd been avoiding in visits past.

Yuuri had slipped the covers off the skates and was letting a finger ghost over the edge of a golden blade to get a feel for the wear, before pressing into it gently. His finger’s unscathed, but Yuuri brings it up to his mouth anyway to give it a light lick and starts sucking on it, a subconscious habit from touching the metal surface. His eyes catch sight of Victor watching him in silence and he lets out a squeak and jumps back jerking his hand from his mouth.

"Did you cut yourself?"

"Nonono! E-Everything is fine!" Yuuri stammers, wiping his hands frantically on the fabric of his pants. His face is heating up again and Victor _chuckles_ , giving Yuuri a gentle smile that only seems to make him more embarrassed.

_Cute..._

As if trying to prove that he really was fine, Yuuri dives right back into his work and Victor lets him, refraining from saying anything more in spite of himself.

Yuuri raises the larger pair up so that he can get a better look at the golden blades in the light, holding each skate up one next to the other. He squints intently at them, shifting the skates around to look at them from different angles before giving himself a satisfied nod, then sets them back down on the counter to do the same with the smaller pair.

That done, he moves to check on the machine's settings and lowers the protective glass. Its whirring quells into a loud hum and Yuuri places a pair of larger shades over his glasses. It’s annoying, a bit of an inconvenience, and a naturally a little stupid looking, but while his sight is decent enough that he could manage without his glasses, it’s easier than alternating between both during the process and he would rather avoid doing anything that might worsen his sight. The sound of the machine muffles Victor's chuckle, but he still hides his mouth at the sight of Yuuri's glasses predicament anyway.

Sparks dance erratically to the shrill rasping of the metal in the reflection of Yuuri's glasses like fireflies in the night, and Victor finds it mesmerizing, along with the way Yuuri moves with ease and grace, completely in focus. Victor can’t help but wonder if he'd been completely tuned out.

Victor watches on tenderly until the machine's whirring comes to a grumbled stop some minutes later and Yuuri slips the guards back onto the blades. He looks up and blinks at Victor staring back, struggling to find the words to say to direct Victor's attention back to the matter at hand, opening and closing his mouth until he manages to say: "U-Um, I'm done here, so let’s move back to the register, and you can pay there...?"

Victor nods and picks up Yuri's skates from the bench but a pair of lithe hands try to pull them back.

"W-Wait! What are you—?" Yuuri gasps and releases Victor's hands from his grip.

"You're always trying to carry both pairs at once, so I'll help." He smiles, tilting his head to the side. "You seemed to take a liking to my skates, so I'll let you three share one last moment together before they part with me for the night though; I'm not so cruel as to deny you of that~" He adds with a wink.

Yuuri reels at Victor's teasing but doesn't contest, dropping his head with a groan as he squeezes the edge of the counter.

With a drawn out sigh he collects himself and picks up Victor's skates trying not to think too much about how close he’s holding them to his chest, and makes his way to the front with Victor trailing close behind.

He pushes the skates forward over the counter, gently, and returns them to their owner, taking in his hand Victor's stamp card when all is paid and done. Hovering over the faint '5' printed on the paper he presses down and stamps it out, before holding the card out for Victor to take and slip back into his pocket.

"Thank you," he says, leaning over the countertop, a finger trailing over the nametag fastened onto the other's chest, eyes taking in each letter.

Y-U-R-I

"Yuuri," Victor reads, Yuuri stiffening at the drawn out sound of his name. He lets his fingers continue their way upwards over Yuuri's face, and with a grin, plucks the pair of forgotten shades from atop his other pair of glasses, folds them, and places them into the palm of a still stunned Yuuri with a delicate pat of a hand. A beat passes and Yuuri blinks at the sudden influx of florescent light, face flushed and fingers curling around the sunglasses in his hand.

_Of all things to forget, how had he failed to notice that the room around him had been shades darker?_

"Take care and have a good night!" Victor sings with a big wave. Yuuri jumps. When he had made it to the doors…?

"Y-yeah… you too Victor," he whispers to himself, long after the other man is already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are finally.. getting somewhere...? :"D
> 
> I wasn't sure what time of year to set this (I kinda wanted to set things a bit earlier) but realized I forgot about the other competitions so I changed the '4 days' to '2 days' in ch2, and a typo in ch3 abt it being 2 weeks instead of 1 (I could've sworn i wrote 'a week'), and so the current timeline is looking like this(?):
> 
> 04.09.17 :: World championships end  
> 04.15.17 :: Chapter 1  
> 04.17.17 :: Chapter 2  
> 04.19.17 :: Chapter 2  
> 04.26.17 :: Chapter 3  
> 04.27.17 :: Chapter 4
> 
> There shouldn't be any more big gaps for a bit though!
> 
> That said, I do only have about a day and a bit before finals start (and I've still got classes until the end of the week too OTL) so while there won't be any big gaps between the next few chapters in the timeline, I can't guarantee the same for updates lol;;;; But thank you guys so much for all the kudos and interest thus far!! qaqqqq


	5. Chapter 5

"So let me get this straight—" Phichit leans over the coffee table towards Yuuri, grinning ear to ear and barely containing his urge to laugh. "—Victor caught you licking his skates—"

"I didn't _lick_ them! I was j—"

"—and you were walking around wearing _two_ pairs of glasses at the _same time_ so he pulled the top pair off for you—"

" _Phichit_ , I'm serious—"

"—but not before walking his fingers up from your nametag to your face—"

"Phichit, _please_ —"

"—and you just stood there _completely stunned_?"

Yuuri groans into the tabletop and Phichit bursts out laughing at his friend's distress.

"Oh my _god_ ," he says, wiping a tear from his eye, "I wish I had been there; that would have been such a _perfect_ picture."

" _Phichit!_ " Yuuri whines, perking his face up from the table. "It's not funny!"

"Except that it _is_ ," Phichit corrects, raising a finger up to Yuuri who just buries his face back into the table with another groan in response. Phichit struggles not to laugh again.

"He probably thinks I'm an idiot."

" _Yuuri._ "

"And an obsessed fan and—"

"Well, you kinda _are_ —"

" _Phichit!_ "

He looks up at Phichit with pleading eyes.

"Come on, I bet you _ten bucks_ he thought it was endearing."

Yuuri buries his burning face into his hands and sinks back onto the table.

"Would it help if I outwore you in glasses tomorrow? I could wear one over my eyes like normal, and another on top of those, ohh, and maybe one on top of my head, and another hanging from my shirt..." He lets himself trail off. He can hear Yuuri stifling a laugh and smiles.

"Wear a pair over your eyebrows, too," Yuuri adds quietly.

"Now you're just getting ahead of yourself, there."

Yuuri chuckles, pulling his mug of tea closer to his face to hide his uneasy smile as he lifts his head up from the table to look at Phichit.

"You really think he found it endearing?"

Phichit nods with a hum.

"Of course. You're the cutest, kindest, most endearing _mouse_ I know."

" _Phichit!_ "

"Well it's true."

Yuuri sighs, breaking into an embarrassed laugh and shakes his head. He takes a sip of tea, letting the rim of the cup linger on his lips as he gazes at Phichit through his fogging lenses.

"It's just," Yuuri says after a pause, voice turning sombre. "I still can't quite believe that this is all really happening."

"What? That he thinks you have a crush on his skates?"

"No! W-well, yes to that too but not in that sense— ah, forget it, _ughhh_..." Yuuri sets his mug back down on the table and brushes a hand through his hair. "It still feels like this is all some kind of weird dream, y'know — that he's here, that he _talks_ to me, that he—" Yuuri groans and Phichit waits for him to continue. "It's just so..."

"Surreal?"

Yuuri nods.

"And he _relies_ on me. _Me_. I-I mean, so does everyone else that comes through the shop, but..." Yuuri sighs and takes another sip of his tea, fingers drumming against the ceramic as he tries to sort out his thoughts. "All this time's I've held him up on this high pedestal... A-And I know even though we were in the same competition it's not like we'd ever met before, a-and I wasn't the most impressive skater out there, but he doesn't even recognize me and yet he still... He puts his trust in a screw up like me and even though we're practically strangers he's still so nice and..."

"Have you tried talking to him?"

"H-Huh?"

"Like, have you tried starting a conversation with him on your own yet?"

Yuuri flinches and looks away from Phichit, staring into his tea. Phichit sighs.

"So he doesn't recognize you, that doesn't mean you can’t introduce yourself properly or that you're not allowed to get to know him. Are you just going to keep pushing him away whenever he passes by, until the end of the season?"

"N-No, but… what if I say something wrong, o-or accidentally let him onto how much I know about him already, or—"

"You'll be fine~ Just ask him about his dog or something; he's talked to you about Makkachin before right?"

"Y-Yes... Ugh, A-Alright, I'll try..."

Phichit smiles and settles himself back against the pillows behind him, satisfied. Yuuri watches as he scrolls through one of his SNS, chuckling to himself here and there at something on his screen. He picks up his tea for another sip when Phichit's face suddenly blanks.

"Oh, right. By the way I invited Victor and Yuri out with us and Ciao Ciao on Sunday."

Yuuri coughs into his tea.

"F-For your birthday?"

"Yeah! But don't worry we'll still do something special just the two of us! That doesn't mean you can bail out of dinner though!"

Yuuri stares blankly at Phichit, tea dripping down his chin.

"Since when?" He manages after a few beats of silence.

"Ahh," Phichit hums, tapping his chin, "I asked them this morning, so it's not like I've been holding out on telling you or anything! You just distracted me with your story," he laughs. "We're going to be in the same competition, and we're at the same rink so it doesn't make sense not to talk to them more, y'know! Plus, Yuri's probably going to be joining our skating club next month so we'll be sharing our bookings—"

"H-Huh?!"

"Oh. I thought I told you that. Sorry, I must've forgotten," he laughs, rubbing the back of his head. "Ciao Ciao told me he'd been talking with Victor about it and they'd only gotten their bookings this month by pure luck and—!" Phichit gasps and sprawls himself out on the floor to wrap his arms around Yuuri's legs when he tries to walk away from the table, causing the man to yelp when he almost trips.

" _Phichit!!_ "

"I'm so sorry!! I'll make sure to text you as soon as I hear any gossip about Victor right away fr—"

"Ph-Phichit what are you talking about?!"

"Huh? Aren't you leaving because you're mad at me?"

Yuuri sighs and shakes his head, pointing to the tea that was slowly starting to mark dark spots around the neck of his shirt. "I was going to get some napkins. S-So can I please have my leg back?"

"And the party...?"

"It's fine, really..." Yuuri says, trying to give Phichit a reassuring smile. "I don't mind. Better than finding out the night of," he adds with an awkward laugh. "So, u-um, my leg..."

Phichit releases Yuuri from his grasp. "Of course, of course~"

Yuuri thanks him and makes his way over to their kitchen to rummage through their drawers for their stash of napkins.

"Just..." Yuuri says as he wipes his face down, "m-maybe, you and Celestino, could you not mention anything about my career as a figure skater...? I-I mean, not unless it actually _comes up_ , I don't want you two to _lie_ , but—"

A frown tugs on Phichit's lips but he maintains a smile.

"I'll pass it on to Ciao Ciao."

 

❅❅❅

 

Yuuri yawns into the palm of his hand. He'd woken up earlier today to try going to the gym again (though not as early Phichit, who had already been long gone by the time he'd gotten out of bed) and he silently curses himself for having gotten so used to being able to sleep in these past couple months. It’s getting late, and while he'd make it to the end of his shift, he ensures himself that he’s jumping straight to bed the moment he gets home regardless of how hard Phichit tries to rope him into another Friday night marathon of _The King and The Skater_. It could wait until Sunday. Either way, he has no doubt his sleep schedule and energy is something he needs to work on if he... Well, he couldn't keep sleeping until noon every day, that was for sure.

He lets his head hit the counter with a light thud and a tired sigh. As long as he didn't let himself fall asleep, there was no harm in resting for a bit, right?

He keeps his gaze locked on the doors but lets his vision lose focus. Every once in a while he can hear the sound of people passing by but none come into the shop. Maybe it was the exhaustion or the lack of anything to do, but time seemed to be passing at an even slower pace than usual.

Eventually, after what had felt like an eternity, a blurred figure encroaches into the room, forcing Yuuri to lift his face from the counter.

"Tired?"

The figure chuckles and Yuuri blinks, startling as his eyes pieced together the image of a certain silver-haired Russian staring at him with a smile on his lips and blue eyes that suddenly widen into surprise as Yuuri feels a pair of firm hands reach out to steady him from falling off his stool.

"Sorry, did I spook you?" Victor asks.

Yuri blinks again, then shakes his head.

"N-no, sorry, that was my fault," Yuuri mumbles. He turns his gaze away from Victor, and raises a hand to wipe his mouth of hopefully no drool which Victor takes as a cue to let his hands drop from Yuuri's arms. Under the touch of his palm, Yuuri could feel the heat emanating from his cheeks and hoped he didn't look any different from usual. Glancing back at Victor, he notices the man had made no attempt at placing anything on the counter and was just watching him silently. "Um..."

"Ah! I wanted to ask you about your friend," Victor provides.

"Phichit?" Yuuri asks. He's never mentioned knowing Phichit to Victor before, but he could count on Phichit for having probably brought it up. Victor's smile seems to grow when Yuuri doesn't question him further, and nods.

"Is it some kind of new American fashion trend to wear a ridiculous amount of sunglasses?"

Victor pulls out his phone to show a photo he'd taken to Yuuri and he grabs it in his confusion.

"Wait, h-he actually _did that?!_ "

Victor raises an eyebrow at his outburst and when Yuuri catches sight of it he feels forced to explain.

"U-Um, well, I told him about yesterday, a-and..." Yuuri looks away. "I thought he was joking. He said he thought it'd make me feel better or something."

He turns his attention back onto the phone. Phichit was even wearing a pair over his forehead like he had teased, and he can see a wearied Celestino in the background. Yuuri chuckles and looks down fondly at the picture.

"He looks ridiculous." He stifles another laugh. "Did I really look that stupid?"

"Nah, you just looked cute."

"H-Huh?!"

Yuuri's head whips up to look at Victor. He isn't laughing; his features are soft and, unless Victor was an amazing actor, that smile on his lips and in his eyes was telling him that the man had been completely serious, even if he _had_ been teasing Yuuri earlier. He covers his mouth with a hand and turns away. His face was definitely burning up now.

"...Please don't tell Phichit. I’ll owe him."

At that, Victor chuckles.

An awkward silence hangs over them for a few beats until Yuuri realizes he’s still holding onto Victor's phone. He stares at its black screen and lowers his hand from his face. This was probably the first time he'd spoken more than Victor. No, certainly. If he was going to start a conversation on his own and not let things end awkwardly here, it was now or never. He winces at the thought.

"Um," Yuuri says pushing the phone back towards Victor and thinking back on what Phichit had said the previous night, "You know, you've told me a lot about Makkachin, but you've never actually shown me any photos..."

Victor raises an eyebrow and covers his mouth with a pensive hand, a smile pulling on his lips behind the cover of his fingers.

"...Uh, d-do you think you could show me some?" It’s almost a whisper but Victor beams at him and leans over the counter as he excitedly takes his phone back into his hands.

"Of course! I'd love to!"

Victor begins scrolling through his gallery to show Yuuri his photos of his poodle, and Yuuri prompts him to tell the stories behind them. Makkachin back home in Russia, on the beach, at his old home rink during practice, Makkachin on his walks when the weather was just beautiful, and when it was not, Makkachin in their new apartment resting between Victor's legs on their couch, jumping on an exasperated Yuri in the morning before the sun had fully risen, curled up in front of their fireplace... His time with the poodle was extensively documented and Victor puts great care and enthusiasm into his accounts of his favourite shots. Yuuri can tell that Makkachin meant a great deal to Victor, just as Vicchan had meant to him.

"He's adorable. You must love him a lot," Yuuri says when Victor had landed on Victor’s umpteenth selfie with Makkachin licking his cheek. His voice comes out a little sadder than he had hoped, but luckily Victor doesn't notice, taking the softness of his voice for fondness instead.

"I do. He's like family." Victor smiles warmly.

"How long have you had him?" Yuuri asks to push forward the conversation, already knowing the answer.

"Since I was a teenager," Victor says, pausing for a small laugh. "He's getting pretty old now, huh..."

Yuuri continues staring at the photo on Victor's phone, lost in his own memories.

"Do you have a dog of your own?" Victor asks when he had takes notice.

Yuuri jerks at the question and looks up at Victor.

"I, uh... Y-Yeah," Yuuri musters. "A little brown toy poodle, kinda like yours." He intertwines his fingers together on the counter and pulls his hands in close to his chest. "...But, he died during winter."

Victor's expression falls, and he reaches out to take Yuuri's hands.

"I'm so sorry..."

Yuuri shakes his head.

"N-No, it's alright. Thank you..." His voice threatens to crack but he somehow manages to keep it steady. This isn't where he had wanted the conversation to head, but he isn't surprised it had gotten here either.

Victor squeezes his hands and a voice calls out from outside in Russian. Victor releases his grip and turns in the direction of the source before looking back at Yuuri with an apologetic smile.

"You know, you should meet Makkachin sometime. I'm sure he'd take a liking to you immediately~"

"Thanks... I'd like that. Though, I don't think you'll be able to get away with bringing a dog into the rinks," he laughs.

"Well, then I guess we'll just have to find another way~" He pushes himself off the counter and begins making his way towards the doors, then pauses to look back at Yuuri behind the counter. "It was nice talking to you."

"Yeah, likewise... Um, t-thank you for showing me the photos of Makkachin."

"Any time," he hums, before disappearing through the doorframe.


	6. Chapter 6

“Yuri!” Victor calls out as he skates to the boards to turn off the alarm sounding from his phone. “Let’s stop here for today.”

Yuri skids to a stop, sending a curt nod in Victor's direction as he catches his breath, taking in a sharp whiff of air.

“Alright,” he exhales, brushing his bangs up and into the mess on his scalp, and lets the strands fall back over his tired face with a huff as he drops his hand back to his side. Looking up at the large digital clock up on the scoreboard, Yuri sees there’s still a bit of time left and taking in another large breath to fill himself with much needed oxygen, starts to skate a lap around the rink, slowly and in spite of the soreness in his legs he was starting to feel, to cool down after practice.

Victor steps off the ice and sits down on the bleachers, crossing his legs one over the other so that he can trail his fingers over a golden blade, delicately flicking off the larger clumps of ice from its surface.

“By the way, have you come up with any ideas for what we should buy for that Thai skater, Phichit, yet?” He asks as he picks up a towel and starts wiping down his skate.

“Why do we have to buy him a gift?” Yuri barks. “We barely even know the guy! Actually, _barely_ is probably an overstatement.”

“Because he invited us and it's polite,” he says, sliding on a skateguard, uncrossing his legs then crossing them over again, so that an unprotected skate hovers in the air. He cocks his head to the side and pouts at Yuri. “Plus, it's his birthday! We can't just _not_ get him a gift.”

“We can too. Who invites someone to a birthday dinner on a few days' notice and expects a gift?!”

“You'd get me a gift if I did, wouldn't you?”

“ _Definitely not_.”

“So mean!” Victor whines, pretending to be hurt by Yuri's words, but the teen huffs, able to clearly hear Victor laughing hushedly to himself.

“If you're so insistent on giving something figure it out yourself! Don't you have _anyone else_ you could ask for ideas?”

“Hm, then... Yuuri?” Victor muses. Yes, that could work. He was friends with the other skater, he must know something.

“What the hell is it now!?” Yuri skids to an abrupt stop in front of Victor, glaring, and Victor blinks at the outburst. Then grins.

“...Good job out there today,” he says with a laugh, then turns his attention back to his skate and brushes it with his hand before taking his towel to it.

“Are you making fun of me, because if you are, _I swear..._ ”

“I wouldn't _dare of it_ ~”

 

❅❅❅

 

“Eh? What kind of gifts Phichit would like?” Yuuri echoes as he finishes stamping Victor's card.

Victor nods.

“Yes! He invited Yuri and I to his birthday dinner tomorrow night with his coach, but we've only spoken a few times so I don't know him very well yet. I thought you might have a better idea.”

“Um, well... He's a really big fan of the _The King and the Skater_ series, and he's always taking photos and posting things to SNS; I rarely ever see him without his phone,” Yuuri supplies. “You know, if you gave him a bunch of risqué photos of yourself and permission to upload them anywhere, he'd probably be ecstatic,” he adds with a small chuckle that quickly fades when Yuuri notices Victor is just staring at him wide-eyed. “I— I'm just kidding!” He assures, raising his hands up in front of him. _Though, to be completely honest, Phichit probably would be..._ He shakes the thought from his mind.

“You could try getting him a power bank or something,” Yuuri quickly adds before Victor can get the chance to comment on his earlier suggestion. “His battery drains pretty fast when it's cold, and he insists on using his cell even during practice. He'd probably really appreciate it.”

“That sounds reasonable enough,” Victor says tapping just above his lip, a glint in his eye as he eyes Yuuri. “Should I reuse something from an old photoshoot or take some new photos just for the occasion...” He breaks into a muted laugh at the sight of the blood rushing to Yuuri's cheeks. “I'll look into the power banks. But risqué photos, really? I never would have guessed he'd be into that... or is that more your ideal idea of a gift?” Victor teases.

“Th-... That's...” Yuuri falters, mind thick with a reeling sensation. He swears he felt the heat of his blood spreading all the way to the tips of his ears in one fell swoop. “H-He may look innocent, and he really is one of the kindest, sweetest people I've ever met,” Yuuri sighs, defeated, knowing that letting the question hang would be like an admission of guilt, “but you'll have to take my word on it that's there's something _devious_ behind that innocent face of his.”

“You sound like you're speaking from experience.”

Yuuri gives an exaggerated groan and Victor takes that as a 'yes'.

Yuuri shifts and spares a quick glance towards the exit, then to his feet swinging as he readjusts himself on his stool. He doesn't know what he could add to stop the conversation from dropping aside from delving into a detailed list of all the times Phichit's antics had bested him, and he was in no way comfortable enough to bring himself to reveal his embarrassing adventures to his lifelong idol. He couldn't try bringing up Makkachin again either — well, he _could_ , there _was_ no way of knowing if Makkachin hadn't done anything absolutely adorable in the last 24 hours or if Victor had a handful of new photos to show off after all, but as much as he would have loved to see more photos of the poodle, asking would probably come off as if Yuuri was more interested in Makkachin than Victor. He was starting to wish he had asked Phichit for other conversation topics he could use or at least tried googling a list.

Resettled into his seat, Yuuri flinches when he looks back up to find Victor leaning in closer over the counter, chin cupped in hand and elbow propped on the table.

“So, how does a professional figure skater end up friends with someone like you~?”

Yuuri can't tell if it was an insult, curiosity in his friendship with Phichit, or a question of _personal interest_ on Victor's part, but chalking it up to just bad wording, decides it still had to do with the previous topic: Phichit.

“We...” Yuuri starts, thinking of how to avoid mentioning that the two had been rinkmates. “We've been living together for some years now. So we um, we see each other all the time at the rink and at home, and we hung out outside of that too...” He lets the sound of his voice trail off and pushes up his glasses. When he puts it like that, it feels like he’s casting aside a good chunk of his memories with Phichit.

“Is he your boyfriend?”

Yuuri sputters.

“Wh-Wha—?”

“You said you two live together, called him _kind_ and _sweet_ and know all sorts of little things about him, he does silly things to make you feel better even if it makes him look ridiculous, and you get a lot more talkative when I bring him up,” Victor notes, tilting his head to the side, a smirk pulling on the corner of his lips. “Plus, there was that comment you made about me having to _trust you_ on him having a dev-”

“Roommates!” Yuuri cuts him off the moment he catches that same glint in Victor’s eye returning once again, not wanting to hear what he could possibly have to suggest by his last train of thought and Phichit's _devious side_. “We're just roommates!” He reiterates, and Victor raises an eyebrow. “W-Well, not _just_ roommates. Phichit is my best friend.”

Victor hums in thought.

“But _would_ you?”

“Would I what?”

“Date him.”

Yuuri stares at Victor, mouth agape.

“D-Did he set you up to this??” Yuuri manages.

Victor chuckles then shrugs. “Nope! Just curious~”

Yuuri gives him a _look_ , Victor's intentions no more clearer than prior and he tries to pick apart Victor's thoughts. But Victor pays no mind to Yuuri's confusion, instead checking his phone for the time and, noticing how much time he had spent in the shop, lets an 'ah' escape his mouth.

Tucking his phone into his pocket he looks back up at Yuuri, who’s still staring at him with his brows furrowed and lips pursed to the side, a soft hint of blush from his embarrassment still tinting his cheeks. And Victor smiles, apologetic yet also amused.

“Sorry, but I should probably get going before Yuri gets angry again and before he takes a page from Mila's book and starts learning lifts to personally carry me home — which would be nice, but also bad for his back so as his coach I don't think I could advice it,” he laughs, and Yuuri replies with an 'oh' of his own, features softening at the news.

“I guess I'll see you tomorrow then, at dinner,” he says.

Victor deadpans for a second and blinks, then a warm smile spreads across his face. “Right,” he replies, more to himself than to Yuuri, and his smile grows slightly. He picks up his and Yuri's skates and starts to walk to the exit, but stops after a few paces and turns back to look at the man behind the counter who sits idly, still watching him.

“Goodnight, Yuuri. Until tomorrow~”

“Yeah,” Yuuri smiles, “Goodnight, Victor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally had no plans of posting a chapter this weekend buuut I ended up taking a rest day after my exam so here we are~ I wasn't sure whether to write smth for the day before or just skip right to the party but it felt better like this and the dinner is likely going to be a lot longer than their previous encounters, since the time Victor spends visiting the shop is meant to be short each time anyhow;;; so getting a start on that while I still have exams to come would not have been the best idea lol. It feels like this has been turning into a weekly, but I'm gonna try not to start on the next chapter until next week, since I've got those exams plus a 4 hour flight home I'll need smth to do on and during the waiting before that OTL.
> 
> Episode 10 though!!!!! I've said my share elsewhere (but QAQQQQQ) so sticking to the fic, while writing this my mind just went to _fuck_ , he actually knew who Yuuri was all along what am I going to do about the whole, Victor-has-no-idea-who-Yuuri-really-is right now thing I've got going, but then I remembered that in this AU Yuuri never made it to the final and therefore there was never a dance off against Yurio and Victor (and Chris) and I just ended up disappointed in myself for taking it out ahaha (in the end, the premise ended up staying the same, and ch10's reveal had no effect;;) But, damn, everything that's been shown in the show takes a different perspective now~ One day, I'll learn to plan that far ahead and try to pull a plot twist like that... but I should worry about finishing a story now first lol.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally planed to have this chapter out a long while ago... but at least I got it in before the year ended? lol, anyway, I should sleep

Yuuri wakes with a gasp the next morning as a body comes barreling into him, and groans at the realization that yes, that is a knee digging into his thigh and a considerable weight pushing down on his arm and yes he’s just been _woken up_ long before his body is in any way ready to do so.

"Yuuri~!" A far too excited voice. "Guess what day it is!"

He resigns himself to squinting with tired eyes at the form hovering above him in the dark. Phichit was beaming but _he_ was groggy and just wanted to get back to sleep.

"...It's not Monday already, is it?" He says, turning onto his side and pulling up his blanket up with his free hand. Phichit lost his balance and topples over next to Yuuri on the bed, and Yuuri is thankful for the relief of pressure on his limbs.

"It's Sunday, Silly, and don't tell me that you _forgot_ ," Phichit pouts and wraps his arms around the other's neck.

Yuuri shakes his head and lets out a tired laugh. " _Happy birthday_ , Phichit." He gives him the warmest smile he can muster in his present state and Phichit pulls him into a tight hug. "So, what's it like finally being twenty? Feel like an old man yet?" A small smirk pulls on his lips as he teases his friend.

Phichit laughs. "Hey! You're older than me, you know."

Yuuri hums in acknowledgement of the fact. They let the silence hang comfortably between them for a few moments.

"...Um, Phichit?"

"Mm?"

"What time is it?"

"Around four-thirty, I think."

Yuuri groans and sinks deeper into the warmth of his blankets but is quickly pulled back out by arms that refuse to let him slip out from under them and try to sit Yuuri upright.

"Oh no you don't, _come on_! I want to go out to get breakfast this morning! Get up!"

"Phichit it's _four-thirty in the morning_ ," Yuuri whines, struggling to free himself from Phichit's hold so he can slip back under the covers. "The sun's not even up yet!"

" _Please?_ "

"Nothing's going to be open."

"We still have to get ready!"

" _Phichit, please, another hour. Or two. It's too early."_ This time he wraps his own arms around the other's torso and pulls Phichit back down onto the mattress with him. "I'm going back to sleep."

Phichit folds with a sigh as Yuuri's eyes flutter close against his chest. Yuuri was back asleep almost as fast as he had been woken up. He muffles a laugh at the sight and pulls out his phone, a fond smile for the camera as he takes a shot of the scene.

 **_phichit+chu_ ** _As soon as I woke this guy up he mumbled a #HappyBirthday and fell right back asleep. Getting him up and out for an early morning birthday celebration's proving harder than I thought. smh_

 

 ❅❅❅

 

Yuuri sat atop the long bathroom counter with Phichit leaning over the sinks next to him trying to get a good look of himself in the long, extending mirror. While his friend busied himself with fixing his makeup, Yuuri took the chance to scroll through his Instagram feed. It was, to no surprise (especially given the occasion), almost entirely populated by Phichit's account.

The most recent were taken out on the ice while Yuuri had been working — Phichit took great pride in showing off his progress and improvements in his training to the world. Not even his birthday could sabotage his determination and dedication. A little further down and Yuuri comes across the photos he had been coerced into taking during Phichit's morning practice — a consequence of already being out with the man and having no other morning obligations on this specific Sunday — edited to aesthetic perfection and included a short video of Phichit practicing and landing a quad, followed by the man excitedly waving at the camera asking if Yuuri had managed to record it all. He chuckles at the memory and of how Phichit had spent the next ten minutes gushing to Yuuri about how great it had felt and how lucky he was that Yuuri had graciously 'volunteered' to play cameraman, what with Celestino's track record of forgetting to so much as turn _on_ the camera, let alone actually press record.

"Hey if you like what you see that much, I better be hearing some double tapping there," Phichit teases, pointing his eyeliner brush in Yuuri's direction, a smirk on his lips.

"Who says I'm laughing at one of your posts?" Yuuri retorts with a smirk of his own earning him an exaggerated look of shock from Phichit.

"Are you saying that there’s someone else?!" One hand to his heart, and a non-existent tear is brushed away with the back of the other. "Oh, Yuuri, _how could you_?!"

Phichit's theatrics were enough to elicit a laugh from Yuuri on any good day, but combined with the fact that Mr. _Appreciate-My-Pics-And-Beauty_ had only lined one eye with a dramatic wing thus far the sight has Yuuri breaking into a fit of laughter almost immediately.

"Alright, alright!" Yuuri manages between laughs and holds up his phone so Phichit could see the screen as he prods at it. "Double tapping, double tapping!"

Phichit gives a satisfied huff and though he tries to keep up with his hurt charade, he can't supress a laugh of his own. With a shake of his head and a smile on his lips he turns back to the mirror to get a start on his other eye, and Yuuri brings his attention back onto his phone.

Eventually the photos of Phichit's training (accompanied by a single selfie of Christophe Giacometti sneaking in inbetween) change into shots of food from their breakfast that morning. He was in some of them, blurred out and cropped so that the focus lay on the food (Phichit had even insisted on taking photos of his, too), and his gaze lingers on the tasty looking photos until his spell is broken by a small face towel being dropped on his head.

"Wash your face."

"H-huh?" Yuuri blinks at Phichit, plucking the towel off from where it had landed and slides his phone back into his pocket with the other. Phichit was staring at him again with that glint in his eye (and both eyes lined to their cattiest).

"Wash your face. I'm gonna do your makeup too. I want to take lots of photos tonight and, if we're gonna have a fighting chance in the looks department against a man that's so gorgeous he could put half the modelling industry out of work and the second prettiest skater in the senior division combined, we're both going all out."

Yuuri sighs. He wants to whine a _'do I have to?'_ but knows it would be futile against Phichit, not to mention he'd already gotten lucky enough that morning getting that extra hour of sleep.

"Fine, but I'm keeping my glasses."

Phichit grins.

"I can work with that."

 

❅❅❅

 

Standing in the lobby waiting for Victor — _the_ Victor Nikiforov — and the younger Yuri only makes the realization of just who they were waiting for, and just _who_ would be joining them for dinner, finally sink in after a lighthearted day of joking and mulling around. Yuuri brushes a hand through his hair (now partially slicked back curtesy of Phichit's insistence), foot tapping against the linoleum as discretely as he could granted he was fighting the urge to start pacing back and forth across the hall. It had taken him a couple weeks as it were to get comfortable enough to _not_ panic, and while he had somehow found the courage to actually contribute to pushing a conversation forward with the man in the last few days, dinner... dinner was _completely_ different from what their current employee-customer relationship entailed. Even if they _were_ kinda, sorta, okay, mostly, _almost_ certainly friendly with each other, it was nothing akin to the ‘friendly’ that came with being friends with Phichit, or Yuuko or Minako back home – he and Victor were just acquaintances and Victor was still his idol who just so _happened_ to be a very friendly person that Yuuri had just _somehow_ managed to converse with about things that weren’t skating, and right now he was just a lucky nobody with _connections_ and god, he'd never spoken to the man longer than what, maybe ten, _twelve_ minutes tops if he was being terribly generous? Dinners — birthday dinners, _Phichit's_ birthday dinner — could go on for at least an hour, maybe two. He could count on Phichit and Celestino to divert Victor and Yuri’s attention to themselves, but if he left it to just that and didn’t say a thing what was even the point of showing up?

Yuuri bites his lip and shoots a glance at Phichit smiling ear to ear, talking animatedly in Thai to his family back home through his phone. _No_ – he closes his eyes and shakes his head, taking a deep breath, and then opens his eyes onto his shoes – he can do this. Or, well, he thinks he can. They’d all probably be too busy eating food to talk that much anyway, and it wasn’t like he’s a _complete_ mess when he talks to Victor either, right?

…Worst case scenario, he could just excuse himself to get some air or shove a bunch of food in his mouth so he wouldn’t have to speak.

His tapping slows to a halt with his newfound, half-baked resolve and he checks the time on his phone. They had spent enough time in the washroom getting ready that Victor and Yuri’s session should have ended by now. Celestino, being the only one with a car, had already left to bring it around to the front and was waiting for them outside. He debates heading outside himself, but the idea of being stuck in a confined space alone with his old coach at that moment left a bad taste in his mouth.

It’s a few more minutes of listening to Phichit’s chatter before the pattering of approaching footsteps sneaks its way into the lobby’s sounds. Victor shouts a lively hello, Yuri looking sullen as he trails along behind him still not content with being dragged into the whole affair. Yuuri mutters a hello of his own and Phichit waves enthusiastically at the pair before turning his attention back to his phone, probably explaining who had been yelling and trying to wrap things up on the line.

Phichit distracted, Victor does a double take on Yuuri, pausing in his step as he looks the man up and down. From the slicked back hair to the loose light gray sweater tucked underneath his open navy double-breasted coat with its generous turtleneck tickling Yuuri’s chin to his dark, form-fitting jeans – Victor takes it all in.

“You… You look good,” he states in awe. “I barely recognized you.”

“Th-thanks?” Yuuri stumbles at the compliment, pushing up his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. Victor blinks.

“Whoa! Are you wearing eyeliner too?”

“I—Um, I uh, y-ye—mmph??!” A hand pushes his chin up and his mouth closed, and his head is tilted to back and forth to either side so that Victor – now breaching on Yuuri’s space – can get a better look at the shopkeeper’s eyes.

“You _are!_ Amazing!” Victor lets his fingers slip down under Yuuri’s chin and straightens his head back up, Yuuri cursing their close proximity. “…It’s a good look on you.”

“I know, right?!” Phichit butts in, overflowing with pride in his artistry, call ended but phone out and directed in their direction nonetheless. Yuuri swears he hasn’t heard a shutter go off, but considering the distraction that was Victor, he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d missed it. “Hey! Victor! You should let me do your makeup sometime!” He beams.

Victor oooh’s at the suggestion and drops his hand from Yuuri’s face, finally giving him the chance to catch a much needed breath. “That sounds like fu—”

“Oi!” There’s a shout and the trio all turn to look at the blond standing a while’s away from the group, hunched over and glowering at the bunch. “As much as I would _love_ to give a shit about you guys giving each other makeovers,” he growls, “what the hell is that four-eyes doing here? I thought this was just supposed to be us skaters and their coaches!”

Yuuri and Phichit exchange an apprehensive glance and Phichit puts on his best smile for Yuri as he wraps an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, pulling him in close.

“Yuuri here is my roommate!” Phichit explains.

“ _Yuuri?_ ”

Phichit nods. “And my best friend. So wherever I go today, he goes. No excuses.”

“Wait, you’re telling me the skate guy’s name is Yuuri, too?!” Yuri groans. Victor snorts and the blond spins around to glare at his coach. “Don’t tell me you knew too, old man!”

“…Maybe,” Victor smirks. “By the way,” he continues, ignoring his pupil’s snides in the background, “speaking of coaches, where _is_ yours anyway?” He asks, looking back at Phichit.

“Oh, Ciao Ciao? He’s waiting in his car out front.”

“W-We probably shouldn’t keep coach waiting any longer,” Yuuri quickly adds, hoping that the two skaters in the hall with the least sense of the meaning of personal space would give him some.

“Ah! You’re right!” Phichit gasps. “We _do_ have a reservation to keep! C’mon, let’s go! We can chat more at the restaurant!” With that, he heads to the front doors, Yuuri still trapped within his arms much to the man’s dismay, towards the front steps with Victor following closely behind.

Completely ignored and gritting his teeth, Yuri watches the doors close with a thud before him.

 

 

❅❅❅

 

 

Somehow, the drive to the restaurant had been more awkward than Yuuri had anticipated it’d be. Victor, being the biggest of the four passengers, sat in the front, overwhelmingly patient in the face of Celestino’s questioning of just how serious the man was about coaching, leaving Yuuri, Yuri, and Phichit to be squished like sardines in the back. Phichit was unusually quiet but it was excused by his mesmerisation of the moving lights and scenery, and Yuri, squashed between the two, Yuuri swore he felt the kid shooting glances at him every few minutes that made Yuuri feel as though he was being dissected. Deciding Phichit had been onto something, Yuuri took to looking out his own window, but the chills of being watched just didn’t seem to subside.

The mood recovered once they had all clambered out of the car and into the restaurant, a family-owned Thai place that Yuuri recognized as the one Phichit liked to dine at whenever he was feeling particularly homesick. Before they had even made it to their table, the man of the hour was already in the midst of recommending several dishes with such gusto he practically had both Russians drooling at the imagery.

Phichit took center with Yuuri on his left and his coach on his right, and Victor took a seat across from Yuuri, feeling more at ease near the shopkeeper than his fellow coach after their drive, giving Yuri no choice but to take his left. There’s a unanimous decision to try the dishes Phichit had been boasting about moments earlier, the temptation too fresh on their tongues to let them pass by untasted, and they order as soon as they sit down.

Yuuri distracts himself in the drink menu despite having already asked for water. Yuri’s stares had halted when the teen had fallen into step with Phichit, but with the subject shifted and everyone settled into their seats the glancing had started up again. Yuuri didn’t doubt the existence of people having grudges over having the same name as someone else, but there’s a certain intensity to Yuri’s glares that just didn’t add up when considering something so petty as having the same name.

“—but I stopped coming here when Yuuri realized it was only making me more homesick,” Phichit concludes. “We still drop by sometimes though now that I’m more settled in and used to living in America. I can’t say the food doesn’t make me miss being back in Thailand, but it’s a much, um, happier kind of homesickness? Hey, Yuuri—“ Yuuri feels an elbow jab his side. “—Do you know what I mean?”

“I’d say nostalgic..? But I don’t think that’s quite happy enough, sorry. I do get what you’re trying to say,” Yuuri says, eyes still fixed on the menu in front of him.

“Sentimental?” Victor tries.

“Maybe,” Phichit says, then with a shrug: “Well, the actual word for it isn’t that important anyway.” He shifts to look at Yuri who was trying his best to appear disinterested, and leans over the table. “Yuri! What about you? You’re only fifteen, right? I hope you’ve had a smoother transition than Yuuri and I here~”

The teen’s glare weakens just a bit as he breaks his stare on Yuuri to look at Phichit, then at Victor. “Fine, I guess. None of that mushy stuff,” he scowls. “Except I’m stuck living with _this moron_.” Victor stammers a ‘hey!’ but Yuri continues on: “Him and his dog. There’s not a day where I can get a damn moment of peace anymore. I don’t get how he can be so _energetic_ so early in the morning, opening up my curtains as soon as the sun’s come up to wake me up for his stupid morning runs, and he’s constantly making a mess of everything in the kitchen the second he steps foot in there! And if I’m not watching him, I sometimes catch him chasing after my cat, too!”

Yuuri chuckles weakly. “Don’t you think you’re being a little too hard on Makkachin?”

“I’m talking about _Victor!_ ”

“Yeah! Wait—What?” Victor adds, registering Yuri’s comment a moment too late. The table bursts into laughter. “ _Yuri!_ How could you not like living with me?!”

“I caught you using her as your _dance partner_ last night while you practiced that short program of yours in our living room!”

“Well, Makkachin was sleeping!”

“Then just use a broom or something! And you can’t cook either!”

“Can too!”

“Eggs, salads, sandwiches, and randomly throwing stuff into a slow cooker doesn’t count!”

“Of course it does!”

“Living with your coach certainly sounds intense,” Celestino mutters as Yuri tries to burn holes into Victor with his glare.

“Ciao Ciao you should invite me over sometime!”

“H-Huh?”

“If you end up moving in with coach, Phichit, I expect joint custody and visitation rights for our kids,” Yuuri adds jokingly.

“I’ll agree with giving you the weekends,” Phichit says, playing along.

“Please don’t get any ideas you two,” Celestino sighs. “And somehow I think I’d feel more at peace myself not having the inside of my house and my private life at the mercy of Phichit’s camera happy fingers.”

“Hey!” Phichit huffs, but Celestino just laughs and shakes his head.

“Kids?” Victor asks, looking between Yuuri and Phichit.

“Phichit’s hamsters,” Yuuri supplies.

“I’ve got three of them!” Phichit adds. “They’re the absolute cutest! Here, I’ll show you,” he says, unlocking his phone to find his hamster folder on his phone and Victor leans over the table eagerly.

“So how did you two end up as roommates, anyway?” Yuri asks Yuuri as Victor and Phichit gush over photos of hamsters over the table between them.

“U-Um, well,” Yuuri mumbles, shooting a glance at Phichit and a concerned Celestino then back at Yuri. “Celestino helped arrange things for us, since we were, uh, b-both looking for roommates, and neither of us really knew anyone or had any family here.”

“Yuuri moved here when he was eighteen and Phichit’s been here for some years now too,” Celestino adds. “Yuuri’s never been very good with people and Phichit can be a bit… involved and energetic, so I was a little worried at first but they ended up being quite good company for each other, so I’m glad to have been of help,” he says with a kind smile directed at Yuuri. “This guy’s opened up a lot thanks to Phichit here, though sometimes I feel like it’s something selective just to him,” he laughs and Yuuri’s cheeks flush a bit at the commentary.  Yuri doesn’t seem completely content with their answers, but makes a noise in acceptance.

“Wow! Yuuri, you’ve really gotten lucky to get close with so many big names through skate sharpening!” Victor says, breaking his attention away from Phichit’s phone to look at the spectacled man.

“I, uh—yeah,” Yuuri said, shifting in his seat, and stared down at his hands in his lap. Well, technically he wasn’t wrong…

“Celestino’s a pretty sought after coach in the figure skating world,” Victor continues. “Not as much as Yakov or myself, but—“

“Or you? You practically forced me to be your pupil, you know! ‘Sought after,’ my ass!” Yuri spits.

“You say that, but you’re still here with me, aren’t you?” Victor smirks.

“I guess we’ll find out after this season’s finished,” Celestino says as a waitress arrives with a cart carrying their food. Yuri makes to dig in but Phichit stops him, shouting that he wants to take photos first and asks the waitress if she could take a photo of them all too, much to Yuri’s irritation. Celestino raises a hand to the side of his mouth and purposely does a poor job of whispering to the woman: “Sorry, he’s really excited. It’s his birthday.”

“Not that that would have stopped him any other day,” Yuuri sighs and Celestino laughs in agreement.

“You can’t blame me for wanting photos when the food looks so good and I’m out with friends,” Phichit pouts.

The waitress chuckles and says she’d be more than happy to so Phichit shows her how to take a photo with his phone, and Victor passes his along too and asks if she could do the same for him. Yuuri asks Phichit to send the photo to him later and Phichit promises he will as they all get into position, Phichit slinging his arms around Yuuri and Celestino but mostly Yuuri, pulling his friend into a tight one-armed hug and turns to look at the camera.

“Smile! On the count of three, everyone say ‘Happy Birthday,’ okay? One – Two – Three –“

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!” They all cheer in unison, and even Yuri does his best pose for the camera despite his earlier grumpiness.

“Okay! One more!” She says and switches to Victor’s phone.

Victor suggests they all raise their glasses in toast to Phichit and they all reposition themselves, Phichit’s arm still slung over Yuuri’s shoulder all the same.

“One—Two—“

They all lean in and haphazardly clank their water glasses against another, occasionally missing.

“Thr—“

“To Phichit!” They cheer.

“—ee!” The waitress laughs and ends up having to take a few shots in quick succession to make up for the skaters’ sloppy toasting. “A little early there guys, but I think these came out alright,” she says as she hands Victor and Phichit back their phones.

Phichit thanks her profusely and she waves him off, saying that it was her pleasure and promises to bring him something special later for his birthday, wishing them all a good time as she leaves.

“Victor!” Phichit rings. “Could you take one of just Yuuri and me too?” Phichit hands Victor his phone and turns to smile at Yuuri, who was starting to shift stiffly in his seat next to him once again. “This time you hug me too, okay?”

“A-Alright.”

Victor raises the camera and watches through the screen as Phichit squeezes Yuuri in closer and the shopkeeper wraps his arms around him, Phichit doing the same. The pair share a fond look and Victor’s fingers instinctively go to capture the moment, eyes flickering off the screen for a second to take in the gentle yet happy softness of Yuuri’s expression.

“One—Two—“

“ _Cheese!_ ” The pair beams, smiling their biggest smiles for the camera and flashing peace signs, foreheads touching when they pull each other in closer with laughter, and Victor quickly captures multiple shots of the scene.

He stares blankly at the phone for a moment before handing it back to its owner with a smile. Phichit thanks him and starts tapping away at his screen. Yuuri watches him do so from over his friend’s shoulder for a few seconds before turning his attention onto his glass of water, fingers curling cautiously around its walls and tapping in little bursts here and there, then brings it up to his lips for a sip. Victor continues to watch until the man brings the glass back down and readjusts his glasses on his nose, and then decides to look at his phone to look at the photos the waitress had taken for him on his behalf. His screen was lit up with the notification that someone had just tagged him in a post, and curiously, he taps on it.

 **_phichit+chu_ ** _Birthday dinner with friends, coach, and soon to be new rinkmates, @v-nikiforov and @yuri-plisetsky!! #HappyBirthday #_ _แกงเขียวหวาน #_ _กะหรี่ปั๊บ #_ _คั่วกลิ้ง #_ _มัสมั่น #_ _ไก่ผัดเม็ดมะม่วงหิมพานต์ #_ _ข้าวเหนียวมะม่วง …more_

“ _‘_ _phichit+chu,’_ is that you?” Victor asks though he could already figure the answer as he likes the post then taps into the user’s profile to follow the account.

“Yup!” Phichit chimes, nudging Yuuri in the side gently to show him his phone to ask which filter on them he likes better.

Victor hums and swipes through Phichit’s account briefly before exiting to upload his own photo of the night. As he types out his caption, he realizes Phichit hadn’t tagged Yuuri in his. Drafting and returning to Phichit’s profile to check his newest post — the one he had taken of the two friends — Victor sees that while he had been tagged for taking the photo, once again nothing was to be seen for Yuuri.

“Yuuri, do you not have an Instagram account?” Victor asks, glancing back up from his phone at the man.

“He does, but he never uses it,” Phichit answers for him.

Yuuri smiles meekly. “Phichit pretty much posts for the both of us at this point.”

“Would that make you the _‘chu’_?” Phichit teases, and breaks into laughter when his friend’s face flushes red.

“Ph-Phichit!”

“ _Chu, chu, chu, chu_ —“

Yuuri groans into Phichit’s shoulder which only makes him laugh more. Victor watches the odd interaction between the two, looking back and forth between the two men trying to gauge the cause of Yuuri’s reaction.

“Chu?” Victor echoes, and Yuuri seems to burry himself deeper into Phichit’s shirt to hide his rapidly darkening blush at the word coming from his idol’s mouth.

“It’s supposed to be the first syllable my last name, _but_ it’s also the sound effect in Japanese for a kiss,” Phichit supplies with another laugh.

“Oh,” he replies flatly, looking back at Yuuri.

“By the way,” Phichit says, pointing at Victor’s phone. “Are you uploading the photo from earlier? Do you think you could you send them to me?”

“Sure, one second, and could you send yours to me too?” he says, returning his attention to his phone to finalize and post his version of Phichit’s photo to Instagram. “Do you use LINE?”

Phichit nods. “I do! Here, I’ll input my ID,” he says, reaching out his hand. Victor opens up the app and places his phone in it.

“What about you, Yuuri? I could send you the photos too.”

Yuuri says nothing, face still buried in Phichit’s shirt. Phichit nudges him with his shoulder and shoots him a look unseen to Yuuri and brings his attention back to Victor’s phone, though Yuuri seemed to get the message nonetheless.

“…I have one,” he mumbles into the fabric.

“What?”

“I have a LINE account,” Yuuri repeats, a little louder and clearly this time as he lifts his face from his friend’s clothes.

“And he actually uses it,” Phichit adds. “…For chatting at least.”

“ _Perfect!_ ” Victor chimes with a heart-shaped smile and a clap of his hands.

Phichit gives Yuuri a smirk as he passes along Victor’s phone to Yuuri’s hands, and though he groans in dismay once again the growing redness of his face threatens to reveal his true feelings on the matter. Phichit knew it, he could tell, but he hopes Victor still thought it was still the after effect of Phichit’s earlier teasing, and not because he was essentially giving his longtime idol his _phone number_.

Yuri coughs into his hand to get the group’s attention, glaring at the trio.

“Are we going to eat or not?! The food’s going to get cold!”

“Oh! Sorry! Eat! Eat!” Phichit prompts, gesturing in Yuri’s direction. When Yuri goes to take some khua kling, he adds: “Oh, but maybe eat in small bites first?”

“Don’t tell me how to eat! I’m not a little kid that’ll choke if they eat too much at once!” Yuri snaps and Phichit suppresses a chuckle.

“Alright then.”

While the others are distracted by the prospect of food, Yuuri adds himself as a contact to Victor’s account, and opens up his profile to edit his pre-set nickname.

          **Yuri Katsuki**

Leaving his name as is risked triggering for Victor any memory of who he was if Victor had actually been paying any attention to the other competitions at the last Grand Prix, or really just any other skating competition in the last few years at least. And even if it didn’t, the notion that Victor could easily google him at any time and come across countless articles on his failures as a figure skater was enough to put him completely at unease.

          **Yuri Katsuki **

It had to go.

“Hey, Yuuri, do you want me to get some food for you while you do that?” He hears Phichit ask.

          **Yuri**

“…Sure. But just the massaman and some rice for now.”

Leaving it as just _‘Yuri’_ would get confusing considering the skater under Victor’s care’s name was spelt the same way, which would probably just make Victor want to ask what his last name was so as to avoid that.

“Okay!”

Yuuri stares at his keyboard for a moment before he gets an idea. If he could just distract Victor from the lacking surname, then…

          **Yuri**

Perfect.

At least he hopes so.

“ _F-FUCK!!_ ” The blond Yuri sputters, covering his mouth with his hand and quickly swallows. “THIS IS FUCKING SPICY—”He reaches for the nearest glass of water and chugs, while Phichit bursts into tearful laughter.

“I told you to take small bites so you could try it,” he says, holding out a glass of milk to Yuri. “Here, this’ll help more than the water.” At this point Victor, and even Yuuri, had begun to laugh too.

Yuri glares at them through tearful eyes but quickly snatches the glass and downs it, grateful for the relief, and mumbles a weak “thanks” at Phichit, who smiles kindly in response.

“The same thing happened to me the first time Phichit brought me here,” Yuuri says, shooting his friend a glance. “At the very least, it seemed to make Phichit feel better, be it at the cost of my tongue or not.”

“You’re still terrible with spicy food no matter how often I cook this kinda stuff for you, though,” Phichit retorts.

“You’re a terrible friend and roommate, you know that?”

“You know you love me,” Phichit teases and Yuuri sighs. The birthday boy turns his attention back to the food and begins describing which dishes are spicy, which ones are mild, and which ones are sweet, of which Yuri eagerly takes notes of, desperate to not have a rehash of moments earlier, all while Celestino takes his shares of the dishes that catch his interest too.

Yuuri saves his changes to his profile on Victor’s phone, and after a moment of contemplation, gently nudges the man with his foot under the table, catching his attention. He holds out the man’s phone so as to return it and Victor takes it, taking a moment to look down at its screen.

“It, um, was in Japanese so I changed it so you could read it,” Yuuri lies to a question that hasn’t been asked. Phichit offers to switch plates with Yuri since his is bare and the teen gratefully accepts, getting a look at Victor’s phone as he leans over the table. He shoots Yuuri a suspicious look before taking Phichit’s plate and thanking him for the swap.

“The emoji. It’s cute,” Victor replies. “What is it?”

“Onigiri– um, a rice ball. It’s rice… with seaweed, and filling… I like them.”

Victor hums in response and taps away at his phone. “There! Sent them!” He chimes. “Now—” He looks back at Phichit, then at the food. “What was what again?”

Yuuri feels himself relax a little.

It worked.

 

They didn’t talk much once everyone had started eating. Victor occasionally shouts something in Russian – _vkusno_ , or something or another – and by the look on his face it was probably something positive, and Phichit occasionally comments on the food and encourages them all to try the spicier ones. Yuri’s adamant on refusing the dishes, and after some persuasion Phichit decides to let it slide, but Victor, Yuuri, and Celestino are left with not much say in the matter, though Victor seems to already be taken to just about everything on the table, and the portions dwindle quickly enough.

When Celestino brings up the subject of the coming season’s Grand Prix, Yuuri excuses himself from the table.

The bright white fluorescent lights of the washroom are a stark clash to the warm, comfortable atmosphere of the main dining room and only made Yuuri feel more self-aware.

He leans over the sink, hands planted firmly on the counter, to look at himself in the mirror, then takes off his glasses. He turns on the tap and makes to splash his face with water before stopping himself as he remembers he is still wearing makeup and sighs, returning his glasses to his face. Instead, he brushes a hand through his hair; the slicked back strands having begun to fall out of place thanks to Phichit’s touchiness over the course of dinner.

He wants to go home.

He’s glad that he had managed to talk to Victor with as much ease as he has, and that he hasn’t panicked (yet), if that wasn’t what he was doing now, holing himself up in the washroom, and he figures that he probably had to thank Phichit for that. It was far too easy for him to rub off on him the way he did, even if just momentarily. It was a weird sensation, being close to something that made you feel completely at ease and another, not, and frankly he just felt completely drained.

He leans into the counter once more and there’s a click, coming from the door.

Yuri stood in the entrance, door swinging close behind him with a gentle thunk. Yuuri nods curtly in his direction in acknowledgement, and turnshis attention back to the mirror in front of him. But in the reflection, Yuuri notices that Yuri makes no effort to move from his spot, only crossing his arms across his chest and staring firmly at his back.

Neither speak and both remain still, simply watching, enveloped in the buzzing of the radiators.

Yuuri feels like every second that passed made the room feel like it was ten degrees colder.

And still, neither move.

Yuuri opens his mouth to break the unbearable silence but is sharply cut off:

 

 

_“You’re Yuuri Katsuki, that pathetic figure skater that completely bombed their second event in the GP and every competition after that, aren’t you?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to end this chapter a bit after this ending here buuuuuut, wow, this already ended up at 6k, which is like half the length of the last 6 chapters. The original plan was to split the day in two anyways and it's p close to the spot I wanted, so I think it's still fine the way it is.
> 
> if there's anything off or needing fixing in the text, please mention it im a little too tired to do a more thorough proofread lol
> 
> Also! Since we've got numbers now -- I was wondering, how do you guys prefer reading texting? I've just been mentioning it offhand in the text so far, but if full on texting ever comes up... is [Name] : text message or descriptive and offhand better, or what about um, custom skins to make it look like the LINE app is on the page...? or is it better to keep texting at a minimum? I don't want anything to end up annoying to read through, thanks! And happy holidays!


	8. Chapter 8

“ _You’re Yuuri Katsuki, that pathetic figure skater that completely bombed their second event in the GP and every competition after that, aren’t you_?”

It’s an accusation, not a question.

Yuuri gapes at the teen. Before he can decide whether to confirm or deny the accusation however, Yuri continues on:

“I thought there was something about you that seemed familiar, but I just couldn’t place it. I could never get a good look at you either – you’d always run off the second I’d come in, and that idiot Victor is enough of a distraction as it is,” he grunts, taking a pause to give Yuuri a look over. The man shuts his mouth and fights the frown tugging on the corners of his lips. “You look different from what I remember seeing on TV. You got fatter.” His gaze trails from the man’s midline and falls back on wide, hazel eyes. They say that cameras distort the way you look, that they make you look worse than you do in person, but this went beyond optical illusions. The baggy sweater hides it well, but Yuri’s not fooled – he’s gotten chubbier; it shows in the roundness of his cheeks, the thickness of his thighs, even if he couldn’t see his belly or neck. The blond steps forward and Yuuri flinches, turning so that his back is to the mirror and he’s pointed straight at Yuri. There’s another pause, and Yuuri dares say nothing in response.

“That kid called you ‘ _Yuuri,_ ’ and you called his coach ‘coach’ too.” He takes another step, slow, and calculated. “And every time I ask about you, they give you these _looks_ , like they’re _worried_ , or like they’re asking you for _permission_ or something.” His voice is sharper and Yuuri can feel his glare weighing down on him. It’s weird – different, from the way he’d seen Yuuri act, irritated, when he’d speak to Victor. There was a fieriness to that, full of energy and spunk. This – this was calm, and unnervingly so. And somehow, there was still a fierceness to his gaze, one that glowed in Yuri’s eyes to a greater degree than when he’d shout, and his words cut deeper still. It made the air feel that much thicker and hard to breathe — daunting. Made him wish Yuri _had_ been yelling, screaming, _anything_ with just a bit more fight in it at him, because then this would just be over and he wouldn’t be standing here with chills crawling down his spine at the words of a fifteen-year-old kid glaring into the depths of his being.

He had to look away.

“…Is that why you followed me in here?” is what he says to his shoes, just louder than a whisper. “I know who I am,” he adds firmly, desperate to not sound distraught or weak in face of the teen, though his voice threatens to crack.

“Yeah, a self-centered, selfish _moron_ ,” Yuri spits, “that makes his friends and coach lie–”

“I never asked them to l–”

“–just so you can what? Hole up behind a counter in a little room seven days a week? What the hell is _Japan’s top skater_ doing sharpening skates and getting fat in Detroit instead of skating on the ice preparing for the next season?!”

“I…!”

There’s a shadow encroaching on his shoes and Yuuri hesitantly looks up at the imposing figure leaning over him. He flinches.

There’s anger and hatred in those scowling eyes.

“ _Pathetic._ ” His voice is harsh and bordering on a shout. Yuri takes another step forward and Yuuri pushes himself as far back into the sink as it’ll let him, which does him nothing much but pain his hands. “Or is this some kind of elaborate, sick plan? To get close to Victor the way you’ve been doing – acting like you’re just some casual _fan_ , or some random, clueless nobody taken in by his stupid, gross looks – and get him wrapped around your finger? Get him to tell you the components of my programs so that you can prepare and plot against us?!”

“I WOULD NEVER—” Yuuri snaps but Yuri remains unfazed. He falters when he realizes he’d raised his voice. “E-Even if I _were_ still skating, we’d all be on the same ice, wouldn’t we? What point is there in that?!”

All Yuri does is tsk, because he had a point. When Yuuri realizes what he had said a soft ‘ah’ escapes his lips, and his knees feel weak.

“So that’s what this is then,” Yuri says, straightening himself up but his stare never strays from the crumbling man before him. “I heard rumours you were retiring this season, but there was never any official news of it. Then it’s true? You fucked up, and now you’re giving up just like that — retiring and quitting skating for good?! Just avoiding all your problems, playing this stupid little game of yours, weaving your lies, and pretending that what? That you never fucked up?! That you never had a career in skating?! You’re just throwing everything away, everything you’ve worked for, just like that?!” The teen pauses to take a breath, then tsks before starting up again. “No wonder it never made the news. A no good loser than just gives up the moment things don’t look out for them doesn’t deserve that atten—”

“I… I DON’T KNOW!!” Tears start pooling in his eyes, and Yuuri falls to his knees. “I don’t know, okay!? I don’t know if I’m going to retire or not! What do you _want_ from me!?”

Yuri says nothing, and watches as his senior falls apart at his feet. There’s a long silence between the two, only the sounds of Yuuri’s sniffles echoing against the tiles.

“ _Pathetic_ ,” Yuri says again, glowering in disgust. “You really _are_ pathetic, _you know that_?”

Yuuri curls his hands into fist at his knees, and hiccups.

“…You… You’re not going to tell Victor, are you?” He asks, barely audible.

“That’s what you’re worried about?!”

Yuuri forces his head up, eyes pleading and filled with determination.

“…I have no plans to,” Yuri affirms, and Yuuri lets his head drop, fingers uncurling from their grip. He could feel the sting of the dents his fingernails had left in his palm. “But don’t think this is me playing along with your lying games,” he adds. “If I told Victor, that idiot would just try and convince you to skate again, _butting into other people’s business_ like he always does. It’s not my job to clean up your messes for you _._ ” Yuri takes a step back, and starts to leave. When he reaches the door, he stops and turns to look back at Yuuri. “Just make up your mind and _retire_ already! There’s no room for _two Yuris_ in the same bracket, especially when one of them jumps straight to _giving up_ when things don’t go the way they want them to, _loser._ ”

There was a _click_ , and when Yuuri looked up again, he found himself alone in the washroom.

He sighs, closing his eyes, and rests his head against the sink cabinet behind him. He’s still crying, but it’s slower now – a trickling of lone tears down the side of his cheek. His chest rises and falls, and he tries to regain his breath, his heartbeat. He can’t stay in here forever – there are people waiting for him outside, and the longer he stays the more concerned they’ll get, and the higher the chance that another one of them will follow him in and find him sitting on the bathroom floor in tears. He’s already made a fool of himself to one person today, one too many. But he can’t move, not now. He’s still reeling from moments earlier, and he’s certain that no muscle in his body is going to cooperate if he dares to try. So, for the moment, he finds himself thinking of the teen’s words and wishing he could force his brain to think of happier things.

As much as he hated to admit it, Yuri, he… he had a point. He _was_ being selfish and self-centered, and he _was_ dragging Phichit and Celestino into his mess with him… but if they had a problem with it shouldn’t they have said something? _They_ knew him, they trusted him, enough to have faith in him that he needed his time to figure things out on his own. Yuri hadn’t even so much as _spoken_ to him before tonight. _What did he know_? And if he was being selfish… it was fine, wasn’t it? Avoidant, sure, but _so what?_ He needed his space, his time. _He needed a break_ , a break from everything, from the pressure, from his own thoughts, a long, long break, far away from…

He coughs, arm instinctively covering his mouth. He tries to push himself off the ground, a groan escaping his lips as he finds himself needing to leverage himself using the counter behind him, and turns to face himself in the mirror.

He’s a mess, inside and out. His hair, slightly dishevelled, and his makeup, smudged. He can see the lightly faint redness of his eyes, the tears, tinted black with eyeliner, making their paths down his cheeks, and under his chin. It’s manageable, he hopes, as he takes off his glasses and lays them next to the sink, then reaches for some paper towel to dab his face clean. He found himself cursing the makeup that less than a couple hours ago had him receiving praise from his idol yet currently saw itself as the bane of his existence, showing to everyone that could spare a glance that he was weak, that he’d been crying because a _kid_ not even old enough to drive had called him out.

He tosses the sheets in his hands and grabs another few, wetting them with water and some soap. Soon enough, the black marks and the crust from his tears on his skin are gone as if they were never there, leaving only the smudging around his eyes and his hair to be dealt with. Again, the sheets go into the trash and he grabs another, folding it this time so that he has a thick corner. He wets it, just a bit, and adds the soap, before carefully dabbing the area under his right eye so as not to stab himself or mess up the rest of the line that was mostly intact. He had to refold the sheet and repeat the process a few more times but eventually his right eye looked like something decent, then starts anew for his left.

Yuuri sighs. It’s not as crisp and clean as it had been, and it looks like he has a bit of smoky eyeshadow and more distinct bags under his eyes – he has no doubt that Phichit would be able to tell that something was off the second he saw his face, but it was far, far better than leaving it as it had been.

Feeling parched, he turns on the tap again, and fills his cupped hands with cold water before bringing them to his lips. It’s refreshing, though a little awkward, but he’s alone so who’s to care. He takes another drink, and then runs his wet hands through his hair, pushing the strands back into place.

He takes one last long, drawn out breath as he leans over the sink with his hands gripping the sides of the counter. It’ll do, and the redness in his eyes is faint, if not gone now. He gives himself a light slap on the cheeks and makes sure not to leave his glasses behind before leaving the washroom.

On the way back to their table he makes a stop by the kitchen bar, and orders a couple of beers while fishing out his ID to show the staff. They disappear for a moment before resurfacing, pop the lids open, then pass the bottles on to Yuuri. He thanks them, but doesn’t return to his table right away. He shifts to the wall nearby and leans back to look over the expanse of the restaurant, leaving one bottle on the edge of the counter nearby and taking a swig from the other, silently cursing his high tolerance, not that he figured a couple bottles of beer would have been of much help in getting drunk enough to get his mind off things.

There’s only a few other tables occupied that night, but his was definitely the noisiest. He couldn’t make out what they were saying from his distance, words masked out by the music on the radio, but he watched on as Phichit gestured wildly at an interested Victor, the way Phichit swayed when he’d laugh and get excited. Yuri, he noticed, was doing his best to avoid the conversation, eyes glued to his phone and only tearing away from the screen when he went in to get more to eat, and Celestino quite the opposite, only tearing his gaze away from his food when he decided to add something to Phichit and Victor’s conversation.

He still felt drained, more so after his encounter with Yuri earlier. But with a sigh, he pushed himself off the wall and grabbed the other beer off from his seat on the counter and made his way back to the table, forcing a smile as he got close. He can’t find it in himself to look at any of them in the eye, and instead directs his line of sight to the wall lamp behind the table down.

“Hey,” he tells it, interrupting Phichit’s gushing over _The king and the Skater_ , and sets his bottles on the table in front of his plate littered with food he still needed to finish, and undoubtedly had likely gotten cold. He hears a clashing of ‘welcome back’s and ‘hey’s back as he takes his seat, but doesn’t register who says what.

There’s a clinking of glass and Yuuri looks up to see Victor turning the full bottle of beer around in his hands.

“Did you get this for me?” He beams, and Yuuri doesn’t quite have the heart or the strength to tell him ‘ _no, your student decided to follow me into the washroom to criticize my life choices and I wanted to try getting drunk enough to not have to think about the fact that I just cried on the washroom floor_ ,’ and instead just nods.

“Um, yeah…” Yuuri mumbles to his plate. “Since, uh, Celestino’s driving and these other two aren’t old enough,” he adds, hoping to back up his logic behind just buying two bottles.

Victor thanks him and Yuuri figures that it’s probably for the best; the last thing he needs is for it to become a habit.

“You were gone for a while, everything alright?” Phichit says.

“Yeah. I just needed some air.” It’s not a complete lie – it _was_ his original reason for leaving.

Yuri knows the truth, and Phichit and Celestino just nod, all too familiar with Yuuri’s relationship with overstimulating social interactions. They each think they know the true gist of things and get the cue to not force the topic further. That is, except for Victor.

“Air? In the washroom?” He asks, taking a sip of beer.

“Y-Yeah,” Yuuri manages. “It’s uh, a little stuffy in here, but not so much I’d need to go _outside_ , p-plus it’s cold outside and quiet enough in the washroom so…”

Victor nods with a hum. “I see…”

“Hey, Yuuri,” Phichit says, and there’s a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Look at me.”

Yuuri complies, despite the dread building up inside of him and the stare he feels emanating from Yuri across the table. But, at the very least, he expected what’s to come.

“Your makeup got smudged,” he hears Phichit pout, hand off his shoulder and touching, turning Yuuri’s face. “Did you touch it?”

“…Yeah, sorry,” Yuuri says, and there’s a grunt from Yuri, who turns his attention back to his phone. Phichit pays him no mind. “I rubbed my eyes while my hands were still wet, but I tried to clean it up.”

“Alright,” Phichit replies, a tinge of doubt in his voice.

Yuuri spends the rest of the dinner in silence, speaking only when addressed. He doesn’t want to eat, but his stomach and stress urge him otherwise. He gives in, hoping to at least try and eat his nerves away and himself out of the conversations.

A little while later, a waitress stops by with a gelatin dessert platter on the house. They each try a piece, but they’ve all eaten too much despite the copious amounts of left overs on the table. Victor insists on paying and Phichit refuses out of courtesy, but easily gives in the face of Victor’s persistence and Yuri’s offhand comment to just accept it, because Victor has more than enough money to cover that night’s feast.

They split the leftovers between Victor and Phichit’s households before heading outside to the car, though Phichit and Yuuri end up with more because Yuri won’t touch anything with too much heat. Not that they have it in them to complain, they’re more than thankful for it, and anything _free_.

They’re all about to step in but Victor stops them, asking Celestino to open up his trunk for just one moment.

“Before I forget–” he says as he rummages through his sports bag to pull out a neatly wrapped box. “This is for you.” He smiles and holds the present out to Phichit who absolutely lights up and shuffles with the boxes in his arms to take the one from Victor. “It’s a power bank,” he adds, glancing at Yuuri.

“You’re not supposed to _tell_ him that before he opens it, you know,” Celestino laughs.

There’s a squeal, and Phichit does a little hop from foot to foot as he stares down at the box, then back at Victor.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou!!” He chimes. “You didn’t have to! But—” Phichit shuffles again, looking around him until his eyes land on Yuuri, and he dumps his load of the takeout into his roommates arms before rushing over to Victor to wrap him in a hug. “Thank you!!”

Victor laughs and pats the shorter man on the head, and Phichit pulls away after one final squeeze. “Happy birthday, Phichit. And thanks for inviting us out, it was a lot of fun.”

“No, no, thank you for coming. Ah—!” Phichit turns back to look at Yuuri struggling with the haphazard pile of boxes, and quickly takes the whole thing and tries to balance it all with just one arm, and then quickly pushes Yuuri forward towards Victor with the other before the pile can follow through on its threat to collapse at any moment, which elicits a yelp from the Japanese man.

They both look back at Phichit, then Victor chuckles. Yuuri doesn’t have the same courage as Phichit, so Victor wraps an arm around him and envelops him into a tight hug of his own.

“It was nice to get to know you better, too,” Victor says softly into his ear. “Message me sometime, _okay?_ ” He releases his hold and steps away, and Yuuri can’t help but just _stare_ , in a daze, no words able to form on his mouth.

It takes Phichit dropping half their boxes into his arms and ushering him into the car for Yuuri to fully register what had happen, still not quite able to react even after the car had already left the parking lot.

 

❅❅❅

 

He’s not sure of when it was he had fallen asleep, but Yuuri woke up to Phichit gently shaking his shoulder and repeating his name and telling his he needed to wake up. He blinked, pushing his head off something hard and uncomfortable and a little cold, and saw that he was still in Celestino’s car and strapped into the seat with a pile of boxes in his hands. Victor and Yuri were nowhere to be seen, despite the fact that he had no recollection of either leaving.

“Yuuri, we’re here. Do you any need help?”

Yuuri shook his head and sat himself up with a groan, becoming fully aware of the growing pain in his side from sleeping awkwardly on such a stiff surface. He slid out of the car and the pair waved off their coach before making the trek into their shared apartment.

They left the lights off when they entered, Phichit tossing their takeout into their fridge and Yuuri making his way into the bathroom to wash up.

“Let’s just go to sleep early-ish tonight,” Phichit calls from the kitchen.

“Are you sure?” Yuuri calls back as he starts to wash his face.

“Yeah,” comes from the doorway to the bathroom, and Phichit leans against the frame. “Unless you want to chat about earlier.”

Yuuri splashes water onto his face and lets the water drip down into the sink before he answers. “I’ve just been tired,” he says. “A little too much excitement for one day. I’ll be fine with some sleep,” he reassures. “And Yuri was just bitter about the same name thing. Said that there wasn’t room for _two Yuris_ in the same bracket.”

“I guess I should feel lucky I’ve yet to meet another skater named ‘Phichit,’” he jokes, and the two share a little laugh.

They linger in silence for a bit, Yuuri soaping up his face as Phichit watched, a dull smile on his lips.

“If you change your mind, just wake me up, okay?”

“…I will,” Yuuri says before splashing the foam off his face and shuts the tap. “Hey, Phichit?”

“Yeah?”

“Your present. I hid it in the closet, behind the rice.”

Phichit perks up and in a second he’s vanished into the darkness of their apartment, the sounds of cursing echoing their way towards the bathroom as Phichit stumbles his way around. Yuuri laughs and shakes his head, reaching for his toothbrush. He hears a shout of ‘I found it!’ when he turns the tap back on to wet his brush, followed by the sounds of paper being ripped.

Phichit slams into him just as he starts squeezing out his toothpaste, and nearly squirts half the tube all over his arm and their floor. He leans sluggishly into Phichit’s hug and Phichit squeezes tighter, a million ‘thank you’s on his lips.

“ _Oh, Yuuri!! I love it! I love it so much!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should have taken my time w this, but I couldn't quite help myself. this isn't completely proofread so like last chapter, if u see anything weird like random _____ or weird grammar pls tell me lol;;; it's like 2am :"D
> 
> (also, yuuri got phichit a big hamster city kit!!)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Um! First off, and sorry about another really long note section, I just wanna say??? wow??? I'm really surprised by how many kudos this fic has gotten and by how many of you have taken the time to leave nice comments here chapter after chapter. I had been nervous about trying to tackle writing and posting fics, so it really means a lot and has really made me happy to see how many people seem to have liked this!
> 
> The _original_ plan was to have chapter 9 up early in the first week of Jan, but unfortunately I got really sick all of a sudden out of nowhere right after new years and it took at least a couple weeks to get whatever kinda cold or flu it was out of my system, and before I got sick I only had about 250 words of this chapter written out... which, seeing as this chapter is just about 5k words, is only about 5% of this mess here. If I had known, I would've held onto chapter 8 a little longer, lol. But what can you do. In the meantime, and I really hope you guys don't get email notifs when I mess w stuff like this cause if so sorry :""D, in the meantime I've been making minor edits to past chapters and rewrote a chunk of ch1, just bc I didnt like the flow of it but dw nothing's actually changed there! 
> 
> Getting back the momentum for writing this was a bit of a challenge, but, here we are :"""D. This chapter may or may not have ended up more serious than I had originally intended and includes some stuff that wasn't orginally sup be here, but with ~3 groggy weeks between the first 250 words and the rest of the 4.75k and I cant really fully remember all of what I had originally wanted for this very well so w/e. I can blame it on getting sick :""D but I hope that this chapter has come out well and enjoyable nonetheless!
> 
> That said i am almost a full month back into school now too so updates are, unfortunately, probably going to continue being rather sporadic like this one, but I'll update when I can (｡•̀▽‹ )✧

_11:27AM_

Yuuri groans and tosses his phone into the folds of his blanket and pushes himself up to sit. He slept in _again_ , but considering Phichit hadn’t given him any chance to get some sleep the night before last and yesterday’s turn of events, he decides he can forgive himself just this once. Still, there’s a part of him that wants to just crawl back under his covers and sleep some more, maybe have some time to himself for one day, maybe try and forget the rest of the world existed outside of his door. But he knows that sooner or later he has to start getting ready for work. He’ll just have to push through his exhaustion and hope that this grogginess weighing him down is from just waking up. He knows it isn’t, but he could always stop to grab some coffee on the way to the rink if he really needed an extra boost energy from caffeine, if he thought it was worth the attempt at help.

He leans his side against the wall and fumbles with the blanket to recover his phone. There’s a few messages from Phichit wishing him good morning and asking if he could check his hamsters’ water and food because he accidentally forgot to in his rush to get down to the rink that morning. He glances at the timestamps – they’re from around four hours ago, and Phichit’s likely already busy with training.

He types out an ‘ _OK’_ and sends it, then, after a pause, adds: ‘ _have fun_ ’ and ‘ _don’t forget to skate, too’_.

Yuuri stares at his screen a moment longer then sighs, pushing his phone into the pocket of his pyjama pants before sluggishly crawling out of bed.

When he opens the door to their living area, he loses whatever momentum he had in his legs and gapes.

Unless they had invited in a haunting last night, Phichit had rearranged their furniture in the process of making his new hamster tower far, far more complicated than it was ever intended to be, especially given the limited number of translucent rainbow coloured tubes the thing came with. But Phichit had made it work, hamster cage moved onto the top of their side table which now sat behind their couch, the tubes climbing up over its top and down along the back cushions and armrest before dipping down to level on top of a pile of textbooks, then rising up in a spiral onto what looked like _his_ desk chair then zigzagging back up into the air onto Phichit’s desk chair – which was _definitely_ , by the looks of it, on top of the _coffee table_ – turning, and continuing back straight over the top of the couch then spiraling down to complete its loop into the cage. And somehow, regardless of how much _noise_ the construction of this must’ve made, he had slept through all of it.

Yuuri sighs but it breaks into a chuckle. He supposes, with a shake of his head, that cleaning up the apartment’s just been added to his list of things to do that morning.

He steps into the room to get a better look at the mess. From the look of the pillows on the couch he figures Phichit must have slept out here, too, and he wonders just how late Phichit had stayed up making all of this, especially if he had been in such a rush to leave that morning he’d forget to feed his hamsters. And the number of times that had happened in the past, in all the years Phichit and he had been living together, Yuuri could count on fewer fingers than he had on his hand.

It doesn’t take _too_ long to track down all three hamsters in their jungle of tubing. If anything, it takes longer to convince them to stop squiggling away from him and let him take them out, but eventually Yuuri ends up with three hamsters all nestling into the familiar nooks of his clothes they’d grown accustomed to thanks to Phichit.

Between the light shuffling of tiny feet and the brushing of soft fur against his skin, Yuuri would be lying with a bitten cheek and a bad poker face if he said he didn’t find it the least bit ticklish, and he can’t help but let his laughter fill their apartment the more the little critters try to find that perfect comfy spot in the warmth between the fabric of his shirt and his skin.

Yuuri loses himself to the moment, anxieties temporarily forgotten until order is returned to the apartment and the hamsters have had their share back in their cage some fifteen, twenty minutes later, and looking over the scene to the man the apartment once again feels empty and chilled.

By the time he’s all cleaned up and changed and has gulfed down something simple to eat he’s cutting it close to the latest he can leave and still make it to work on time. Yuuri takes his coat from the closet by the door and quickly shrugs it on followed by his boots. Patting down his pockets, he makes sure that his phone is there and slips out his keys. He rolls them around between his fingers for a moment, biting down on his lip and glancing between the door and the closet, before letting out a sigh and snatching up the small navy blue bag from behind the shoes and hurries out the door.

 

❅❅❅

 

“ _Yuuri…_ ”

“Mm?” Yuuri doesn’t look up from the papers he’s sorting on the counter. Phichit’s lying half on the short padded bench they use for letting people try on skates presently covered by Phichit’s jacket and half on a foldable chair they had lying around the shop, and he has been for some time now. Yuuri hears something shuffle – probably Phichit turning onto his side – but continues to pay his friend no mind.

“ _Yuuri_ , I finally get it.”

“Get what?”

“ _What you see in Victor._ I mean, I got it before but—” There’s more shuffling and the scratch of hard plastic against the floor. “But seeing him skate on the ice first hand – even if he’s not doing any programs and just demonstrating some jumps and step sequences and—!” Yuuri hears him falling back down onto the cushion with a dreamy sigh. “ _He’s amazing_.”

Yuuri chuckles and moves his papers into a drawer under the counter. “You _did_ remember to actually skate today’s session, right?”

There’s a huff from the other side of the room and Yuuri can’t help but puff out a little laugh.

“Of course I did!”

“ _Right_ , and how many times did you stop to try and sneak in some footage?”

“Oh, _shush_. You know you’d do the same too,” he tries to argue, but he’s laughing too. Yuuri hums; he can’t deny its truth.

“Speaking of today’s session though,” Phichit continues, “I never thought I’d say this but Yuuri do you think they’d notice if we put you in a blond wig and tried to pass you off for Yuri? I mean you’ve already got the same name…”

“Wait, Wh-What?” Yuuri stammers and gives Phichit a quizzical look.

“He’s a beautiful skater and is a wonder to watch too but oh, _Yuuri_ , he yelled at me when I tried to ask Victor for a selfie and he kept shooting me these cold glares and grumbling whenever he caught me watching or playing with my phone and sometimes he’d tell me to ‘quit it’ and scold me for distracting him when I wasn’t trying to and to get back to skating or get off the ice and he’d give me these condescending looks when I’d flub a jump—” Phichit rolls back onto his side. “You never used to do that to me,” he pouts.

“Even if I _could_ , by some magical reason, pass off as Yuri _Plisetsky_ – which, by the way, would be like trying to pass you off for Victor—”

“You don’t think I could pass myself off as Victor?”

“Phichit.”

“Sure, I may be a little on the _short_ side and my hair may be a _little_ too dark and I may be way cuter than him but—”

“ _Phichit_.”

“…Right. We do not look alike. Go on.”

“Even if I could pass as Yuri in the looks department, there’s no way I could skate the way he does. If Victor couldn’t notice that a taller Asian man with poor eyesight that can’t speak a lick of Russian wearing a wig had suddenly taken the place of his student he’d at _least_ notice something was off with Yuri’s skating. Besides, you’d still have the _real_ Yuri Plisetsky walking around. What were you planning to do about that?”

“I dunno. Maybe we’d figure out how to get him out of the picture once we got him…?”

Yuuri shakes his head and chuckles.

“Right, and Phichit, regardless of how much of a _brat_ that kid can be, that’s where I say I’m not gonna get involved in or encourage whatever kidnapping-or-murdering-Yuri-Plisetsky scheme you’ve got bubbling in your head right now.”

“ _I don’t know_. It might work,” says an amused deep voice and the pair immediately turn towards it.

“V-V-Victor?! How long have you been standing there?” Yuuri squeaks as Victor pushes himself off of the doorframe and makes his way over to the counter, sparing Phichit on the bench an equally amused glance and a wave.

“Not long,” he says and places his and Yuri’s skates onto the counter, and turns to give Phichit an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I know he can be a bit much sometimes. He takes skating very seriously, sometimes to a fault.”

“No, I get it,” Phichit grumbles, sitting himself up. “Ciao Ciao scolds me about the same things. But it’s like having two coaches circling around except the little one is always _fuming_.”

Victor laughs.

“If you think Yuri’s bad, you should meet our old coach. A great man, very very knowledgeable, but after a while you just _really_ want to tune out some of the scolding and yelling, you know? Anyway—”He turns to look over at Yuuri and raises a brow. “Yuuri, you never mentioned that you could skate.”

Yuuri fumbles with Victor’s skates and pulls the pairs in closer to his chest. He can feel it tightening, air getting harder to breathe. “I—Uh…” His fingers dig deeper and grip onto the boots. “Well, it’d be weird working at a rink if I couldn’t, right?” He settles on with an uneasy laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and looks away.

Victor tilts his head at the display.

“Are you not very good?” He asks, kindly but curious, no malice or mockery in his voice. But all Yuuri hears are the words that have been repeating themselves over and again in his head since the start of last winter. That he’s not good enough, that he’ll never be, that he should give up on skating for good, that no one would ever want to see him skate. They’re all his own voice, his anxieties, but to Yuuri they’re the world’s and the shame and embarrassment he harbours at the memory of his failed efforts start to bubble up again.

“ _Yeah_ … you could say that.”

There’s a beat of silence before Victor claps his hands, making Yuuri jump.

“I know! Say, why don’t you drop by and join us on the ice sometime?” he says, looking excitedly between Yuuri and a straight-faced Phichit. “We could help you with your skating, and I’m sure Celestino and the others wouldn’t mi—”

“ _NO!_ ” Yuuri flinches when he realizes just how loud and desperate it had come out. Victor is staring at him with confusion and shock written all over his face while Phichit remains silent, watching him with concern.

“I-I mean,” he adds quietly, trying to recover his outburst, “You’re all supposed to be working towards the next season; I d-don’t want to get in the way of that.”

“You wouldn’t be—”

“ _Please?_ ”

There’s another beat of silence and Yuuri uses it to pick up the skates and escape to the back of the room.

“Fine, then… what about public free skate sessions? Then you wouldn’t be interfering with practice,” Victor tries again, hopeful.

“Working,” Yuuri says and promptly turns on his machine.

Victor furrows his brows at Yuuri but keeps his distance.

“Don’t you ever have time off?”

Yuuri presses the blade of a skate against the pestle and pretends not to hear over the screeching of metal. He doesn’t want to ignore Victor like this, but he’s at a loss of what else to do to get the topic to drop and get Victor to give up. At least this meant Yuri had kept his promise of keeping his secret, or, if he really had spilled it, this was Victor’s cruel attempt of trying to get Yuuri to humiliate himself further. _You’re such a liar, Yuuri_ , he could hear him say. _If you’re this desperate to hide who you are, then you really are a disgrace._ But… in the time he’d gotten to know Victor – even if that time was just spent in short conversation every couple of days – he had to admit that the words didn’t match the Victor he’d started to know, and the genuine desire he was expressing to help Yuuri learn how to skate only made him feel all the more guilty. And still, he resigned himself to saying nothing.

“The last few times Yuuri skated in public he fell a lot, and pretty hard too. Some people were kinda harsh on him for it,”Phichit finally adds, flatly. Yuuri shoots a quick glance at his friend – he’s smiling, but it’s pained – and the betrayal he had felt rising in his chest turns into more guilt when he remembers how Yuri had scolded him for dragging his friends into his own mess, and at the notion that he had, even if for just a split second, jumped to the conclusion that his best friend would betray his trust. Phichit certainly wasn’t lying – downplaying it though, yes; it wasn’t the whole truth. He was making it sound as though Yuuri had embarrassed himself in a rink full of other amateur skaters, not a stadium full of expectant fans, not a worldwide audience, not his whole country that had placed their hopes on him to do them proud. As if Yuuri were a novice himself, but then again, Yuuri had just set that lie up himself. Phichit was just backing him up, weaving himself further into Yuuri’s web of lies, into his mess, to the point where Phichit himself might not be able to later escape their faults. “He’s been avoiding the idea of skating in front of other people ever since.”

 _But he’s not lying_ , Yuuri reminds himself, and he grabs hold of that sliver of hope that he can still burden the blame all on his own. _He’s not lying._

Victor gives Phichit and Yuuri a contemplative look, before mumbling something that Yuuri can’t quite hear but sounds awfully like ‘I see’.

He doesn’t look mad, a little disappointed, maybe, but he doesn’t give Yuuri any condescending looks, nor does he say anything judgemental. Rather, Victor simply walks over to where Phichit is and takes a seat on the free chair beside him, and they exchange words about their training here and there but ultimately pass most of the time in silence listening to the sound of sharpening skates.

The whirring of the machine cuts out and Yuuri hesitantly makes his way back up to the front with Victor’s possessions in hand and Victor gets up to meet him.

“If you’re really worried about embarrassing yourself, I could try seeing if I can rent some ice for an hour, whenever you’re free,” Victor says and Yuuri grimaces when he realizes Victor clearly wasn’t set on giving it up.

“Look, that’s really not—”

“It’s not an imposition.”

Yuuri sighs and gestures for Victor to pay. “I’ll think about it,” he says, but he knows he means that he won’t. However it seems to satisfy Victor, a content smile appearing on the man’s face.

“By the way, Phichit…” Yuuri adds as he presses a new stamp onto Victor’s card. “You shouldn’t wait around for me today; I’m going to be staying late.”

“Again?”

“Yeah.”

Yuuri smiles weakly and hands Victor back his stamp card and his receipt, an attempt alongside his conversation with Phichit at hinting to Victor that he ought to leave. He takes them, and plays with the paper in his hands before slipping them away.

“Alright. Make sure to text me when you’re on your way home, okay?” Phichit says as he stands up, retrieving his jacket from the bench and his bag from beneath it.

“I will.”

Phichit makes no move for the doors, waiting for Victor to leave first. Victor takes the cue and wishes Yuuri a good night and Yuuri returns the sentiment, then he makes his way to the doors with Phichit trailing along behind him.

When they’re far enough from the shop Victor slows to ask: “Did I say something wrong?”

Phichit tries to smile reassuringly, more to himself than to Victor, but Victor isn’t looking at his face.

“No, he’s just…” he says, gazing down at his feet. “He’s… a little shy, is all,” he decides on and straightens himself up to look directly ahead. “Awkward around people he doesn’t really know. Anxious. He warms up to you eventually,” he adds, and Victor makes a sound of acceptance. “When we first met we definitely weren’t close the way we are now. Used to try and push me away too.”

“What changed that?”

“Well, when you’re living with someone and stuck seeing them almost 24 hours a day every day with no means of escaping you either learn to like the person you’re stuck with or live to go mad,” Phichit jokes and Victor chuckles.

“You’ve got a point there.”

They pass a few more beats in silence before Phichit sighs, toying with the seams of his jacket pockets.

“I… I can promise you he doesn’t dislike you, though.”

Victor hums thoughtfully, silence spreading thin once again, before Victor finally looks at Phichit and says: “Thanks.”

 

❅❅❅

 

Yuuri lays on the cold surface of the ice, chest rising and falling with each breath. His fifteenth or sixteenth flubbed jump, and he can sparsely count the number of times he’d managed to properly land one since stepping foot in the rink. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand then lets it fall to the ice half-heartedly. He stays like that, splayed out against the cold, waiting until his breaths even out, before pushing himself off the ice with a groan. He can already take a guess at all the places he’s going to bruise. It’s frustrating and every inch of his body _hurts_ – he has no doubts he’s running on the last of his strength too, that he ought to stop – but he forces himself to push through it nonetheless and skates to a stop at the center of the rink to try again.

There’s no music as Yuuri glides away from the circle, just the sound of his skates and of his breath. He had turned it off a long while ago, the tediousness of having to skate to the boards to restart it each time he took it from the top anew whenever he couldn’t catch up because he’d hit the ice a little too hard had become too much but it didn’t matter – every note, every chord, he had them memorized and has had for months now, and he moves his body to a song that played to nobody but him.

The first jump comes up fast. Straightening himself up after a lunge, he aims for a triple, knowing that a quadruple Lutz would be far beyond what he could accomplish even on a good day in face of his growing exhaustion, but he under rotates and it turns into a double. Still, he manages to keep his balance and land without falling and in spite of himself he decides to take it as a win even though he _knows_ he could do better, and shifts to skate backwards for a moment. He’s determined, and excessively so, to finish this program to the end. He’s done it before. He had gotten _so close_ to getting it. And yet today… today he could barely make it past the second half of the song.

The next jump comes faster still, and he’s faced with the same dilemma. It’s out of his league, he knows it. But through his practice over the years and pure admiration of the man that had claimed it as his own he’s come close, closer than the last. He decides to play it safe anyway and mentally downgrades it to a triple flip. Yuuri concentrates hard; he needs to make sure he gets his takeoff right – it’s not the same as the way he’d been taught – and make sure he has enough propulsion to get the right number of rotations. And he gets it – the full three rotations in the air – and in the heat of the moment he realizes too late that his feet are not going to hit the ice right and he falls, face shielded only by the luck of the quick reflexes of his hands.

He pushes himself off quickly, not allowing himself to linger too much on the fall aside from a choked ‘shit!’ escaping his mouth. The next jump is a triple Axel and he lands it fine, albeit a little wobbly, and follows straight into a perfectly executed camel spin.

He ought to be more proud of himself, as he transitions preparing for the next big move, but all he can think of is of how he just can’t seem to do anything right, of the burdens he placed on Phichit, of the way Victor’s first instinct was to assume he was an amateur that could barely skate.

He jumps into a flying sit spin and holds his arm up in the air. He can do better. _He can do so much better, and he knows it._

He _wants_ to do better.

For himself.

For his family.

For Phichit.

He _needs_ to do better, to have something, anything, _any_ kind of feeling to prove that it had all been worth it.

To prove to himself that he wasn’t a failure, a disgrace, that he belonged on the ice.

He had thought he had been on the verge of finding it, but every day that passed, every practice in the dark, he felt himself and his skills regress. And it hurt. It hurt more than a failed jump, hurt more than the bruises forming on his skin.

He lifts off into a quadruple Salchow. Over rotates. Falls hard onto his side. He lets out a strained gasp and rolls over onto his back as his body continues to drift down the ice to a stop, left hand digging into the skin of his right arm. He should be fine. He can move his fingers, his arm, but it still hurts like hell and Yuuri takes it as a final clear sign that he needs to stop with the jumps for the rest of the evening. He _should_ get off the ice, call it a night, but once he regains enough willpower to pick himself back up he skates to the boards not to get off but to pick a song on his phone, and puts in his earbuds to drown himself in one last, different melody. No jumps.

The [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f6W71SZZ4Cg) starts out languidly enough, the sound of a single note of a violin being held until an array of keys from the piano trickle in. Yuuri closes his eyes and lets himself glide backwards slowly as the violin starts to come to life. It’s melancholic, but it suits him, and the voice of the violin is reaching for something deep inside itself and so he reaches out with it, bringing his good hand in to his chest then to his side as he turns on one foot to skate backwards back the way he came, before turning himself around again to skate forward.

He meanders around the center of the ice letting the music direct his actions. He’s not skating to a program; he doesn’t have a set goal in mind. He tries his best to concentrate only on the music playing in his ears and hopes that at least for a short while, he can clear his mind.

For a moment the strings feel hopeful and Yuuri can feel it tugging on his heartstrings, before dipping back down into their melancholic song. He turns on an Ina Bauer, letting his bangs fall out of his face, then straightens up as the strings cry out once again.

He continues to skate backwards aimlessly, keeping his right arm close to his body as much as he can. The piano picks up in intensity until the strings die out, and it calms along with it. Yuuri stops for a moment as the piano begins to sing its song then skates forward into a delicate step sequence mimicking the pacing of the notes until the strings pick up again and he concludes it with a lunge, and soon enough loses himself completely to the melody.

 

❅❅❅

 

It’s nice to be indoors again somewhere where it’s dry and warm, he muses, as he kicks off his boots and sets his things on the closet floor. He can hear Phichit washing dishes in the sink and he calls out a short ‘ _I’m home_ ’ as he shrugs off his coat and begins to make his way to his room.

“How was practice?” He hears Phichit ask over the gushing of running water which soon sounds to a stop.

“Okay,” he mutters, and enters his room.

As Yuuri starts to strip himself of his outdoor clothes there’s the sounds of cupboards being opened and closed, the whirr of their refrigerator that escapes through an open door.

Phichit invites himself in, leaning against the doorframe to one side and a colourful mixing bowl carrying bags of frozen vegetables perched in his other arm, and gets a good look at the hues of blues and purples already starting to mark up Yuuri’s uncovered arms and back and peeking out of his pyjama pants.

“That doesn’t look ‘okay’ to me,” he sighs and makes his way over to sit on the edge of Yuuri’s bed but Yuuri ignores him in favour of slipping on a clean shirt. “I know I’ve said it before, but you really should reconsider skating unsupervised like this… what are you going to do if you mess up and end up with something worse than _just_ bruises one day?”

“…I’ve already told Celestino I wanted to end things until I could figure this out,” he says as he takes a seat next to Phichit on the bed with a slight bounce. “I can’t go back and start asking him for favours, especially not as I am now…”

Phichit pushes himself up completely onto the bed and crosses his legs, setting the bowl between them.

“Take Victor up on his offer, then,” he says and gently holds a bag of frozen peas against Yuuri’s right arm. Yuuri flinches.

“Ph-Phichit—!”

“I’m serious, Yuuri.”

Yuuri sighs and picks up a bag of his own and presses it against his thigh.

“He thinks I’m an amateur.”

“So?”

“So, I know how to skate, Phichit.”

“No one ever said you couldn’t.”

Yuuri opens his mouth to say something, but closes it and looks away.

“The change of pace might be nice,” Phichit adds after a few beats of silence. “And you could always fake it.”

“I can’t _fake_ not knowing how to skate, I’m not an actor.”

“ _Maybe not,_ but you do have access to the next best thing,” he smirks, leaning forward.

It takes Yuuri a few moments to figure out what he’s hinting at, but when he does he shoots his friend a daunting look of disapproval.

“Phichit I’m not flattening out the bottom of my skates.”

“Take a pair from rentals, then.”

“I’m not going to flatten out _anybody’s_ skates. Phichit, don’t you know how reckless that is? What happened to not wanting me to hurt myself?”

“You’re still gonna keep practicing like that no matter what I say. At you’d be being reckless with someone else around to protect you.”

Yuuri sighs in irritation.

“ _Still_ , no.”

“Come on, it’s a good plan—”

“ _Phichit._ ”

Phichit pouts but just moves his peas onto Yuuri’s shoulder.

“And Phichit…” Yuuri continues, playing with the makeshift icepack in his hands, “maybe… could you loosen up a little when it comes to trying to push me to hang out with Victor? I know you mean well, and because I look up to him, but…”

“Yeah, sure,” Phichit says solemnly. “Just… promise you’ll lay off on the practicing for a while, okay? You always get hurt when you have too much on your mind. I worry.”

Yuuri makes a mumbled noise in agreement.

He leans against Phichit and nestles his head into the nook of his friend’s neck, Phichit wrapping his arms gently around Yuuri and moving the peas to rest on the fabric below the last of his ribs. They sit like that in silence for a while, until Yuuri shifts to move into a more comfortable position on his bed, though still cuddled up close to Phichit, and looks up at his friend.

“Hey, Phichit… Tell me about _The King and the Skater,_ and why you skate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i should say that i know almost nothing about figure skating. skating in general is one thing, but specifically... lol. i did my best with the info I could gather
> 
> the second song referenced, if the link doesn't work, is _Memory to Revive_ by Anan Ryoko


	10. Chapter 10

Yuuri’s mind is more at ease when he wakes the next morning, but taking it as a indication of his whole state is a mistake he realises too late. Yuuri groans and lets himself fall back onto his mattress with a grunt, the soreness of his body suddenly all the more apparent. He’s sure that if he looked the blacks and blues are sure to have multiplied overnight too, and it’s a sight he’d rather not have to acknowledge so soon.

He must have fallen asleep on Phichit last night – he can’t remember tucking himself under the covers and the peas are nowhere in sight. He closes his eyes and lets himself bask in the comfort of the blanket’s warmth and of not moving. He’ll have to thank him later. Guilt starts to build up over the fact that Phichit always goes out of his way to look out for him, but remembers with a sigh that Phichit would kill him if he ever let that guilt blind him. Yuuri chuckles. No, Phichit would hug him tight and reassure him that he’s there for him because he wants to be and that he’s not causing him any trouble or because he feels bad, like always. He wonders what he did to deserve a friend as good and as caring as Phichit.

Yuuri debates calling in sick, but sore muscles and bruises aren’t much of an excuse, and he’s skated through just as worse before. He rests for another good twenty minutes or so in silence before finally resolving to push himself out of bed and get ready for work.

 

❄❄❄

                                 

With the start of the off season, the buzz of activity in the rink has begun to lull. Less people meant less customers, which in turn meant less things to worry about and less stress. Or at least it should, but the uncertainty of if Victor might drop in again that day weighs on his mind. How he was going to face him. How he was going to have to apologize for being so stubborn, for lashing out. If he even could. It makes him wish for anything at all to materialize and keep him distracted.

He knows that the stubbornness and avoidance had no plans to subside.

He goes through the merchandise shelves twice, making sure nothing is out of place. Reorganizes his bench, delving into the drawers when even a clean workspace fails to ease his mind. Then runs through everything on the shelves a third time despite a severe lack of customers to mess it up since he’d arrived.

He succumbs to playing a game on his phone – some cute new RPG and puzzle app the Nishigori triplets had messaged him about some weeks before but never touched – and he allows himself to bask in the distraction. When the first customers of his shift start to show up, he’s already past level 10.

There’s a few of skaters from the skating club that pass by to restock on supplies before they retire for the off season and forget. They’ve skated together before, and give Yuuri warm goodbyes and wishes of good luck as they leave. Yuuri does his best to smile, half-hearted at best.

And there’s a little girl, probably around seven or eight, that comes in with her mom. Wants to learn to figure skate after seeing the recent championships on TV, he’s explained. They had heard that Victor Nikiforov was training at this rink and had been hoping to meet him, but since no one outside of the club was allowed in to the rink during their sessions, they were told by the staff that they could meet _Yuuri Katsuki_ , another skater from the senior division Grand Prix, in the pro shop. The mom says meeting him’s just as good as meeting Nikiforov. Yuuri can’t fathom how, but the girl is looking up at him with such wide eyes full of wonder he can’t bring himself to voice as much.

He feels like a kid on the sidelines.

A last resort.

And he wonders if he’s even qualified to give any kind of worthwhile advice.

With no other customers to interrupt them, they talk about figure skating, on everything from just what it’s like learning how to skate to competing. The girl – six-and-a-half, he’s learned – animatedly asks him questions too. They’re innocent and inexperienced in the way you’d expect kids’ questions to be and everything unlike the kind he gets from the triplets on LINE (no, he does not have any candid photos of Victor in the change rooms, and if he ever did there was no way in hell he was ever _ever_ sending them to them) but still charged with the same fervent curiosity nonetheless, and Yuuri answers with more heart than he had spoken with with his ex-rinkmates before, doing his best to avoid letting his pessimism and disappointment with his own career seep through. He had been that child before, so full of passion for a sport he barely knew anything about. Six-and-a-half was too early an age for depressing thoughts, it was too unkind.

Still, he finds himself wondering what would have happened if someone had done him the liberty of hearing such words when he’d started out.

Would things have been better for him?

Would he not be drowning in his own uncertainty now?

Would he have continued on with skating?

Probably a no on all counts.

He lets himself gush over Victor’s career _just a little_ when the topic comes up, and soon enough the two of them are both terribly absorbed and Yuuri’s slipped into a state of what Phichit would dub _the ultimate Katsuki fanboying experience_ and the girl just prods him on.

“He’s so amazing!!”

He is. The best there is, the best there ever will be.

“And you get to see him here lots!?”

He does.

(Nine times so far if he were keeping count.)

“That’s so cool!”

It is.

(And yet it still terrifies him half the time.)

“Then you’re friends!”

He supposes they are.

(He doesn’t know where they stand. ‘Friends’ sounds like he’s overstepping boundaries.)

“And you talk a lot about lots of cool stuff?”

He says yes. It’s far more than he talks to other customers, after all.

(He still hasn’t found the courage to try texting him since the restaurant, and after pushing Victor away, he’s scared of saying anything at all.)

“Wow!! Mister Yuuri, you’re so lucky!”

In a way, he is.

(And yet sometimes he swears it feels like a curse.)

They fall off the topic of Victor and start to talk about nothing in particular, and eventually her mom interrupts them to ask if Yuuri knows of any skating programs she could register her daughter in (he is, after all, still on staff). He tells her that since it’s the off season, most schools don’t have any relevant programs running, and even his skating club only offers the off season ice to their older, more experienced skaters. But she can start her off in dance – ballet’s how he started, and a soft smile pulls on his lips at the memory – and maybe even try buying her rollerblades, though the latter’s still not the same. He adds, with a hush and a smirk, that some sports equipment stores have plastic ice people can get a better feel for their new skates on in store, but not to try it unless she’s already used to skating around. Falling because you rushed into things to fast is never a fun thing, no matter how excited to skate you are. The woman laughs at that and thanks him, and Yuuri is grateful that he managed to not come off _too_ bland, and soon he’s posing for a photo with her daughter who’s hugging him just a little too tight, eyes gleaming, and it hurts in more ways than one.

He tells them that if they’re willing to wait, they could probably catch Victor on his way out. They say they’re more than happy with having met Yuuri, that he’s done more than they were hoping for to begin with, that they’re grateful.

They ask him for an autograph. He obliges, however doubtfully.

As they leave, he wonders if the girl will ever learn of how little that scribbled paper is worth.

(And it doesn’t matter that worth is relative; he can’t imagine himself ever being some kind of inspiration to anyone.)

The rest of the afternoon dissolves into the evening without much happenstance, nothing of note. Sharpens another pair of skates, and that’s it. Victor doesn’t drop by, and to an extent he’s thankful for it, but it means he has to face him tomorrow. It’s inevitable – a routine that’s yet to be broken.

It’s Wednesday morning and as he’s readying to leave he notices that his sports bag is missing. _Phichit’s_ doing, no doubt, his way of trying to reassure that Yuuri keeps his promise of staying off the ice for the week, that he lays off the secret practice. There’s a tinge of bitterness looming in Yuuri’s gut, but he ignores it and the lingering soreness of his body in lieu of grabbing his shoes and fumbling to slip them on before making a rush for the rinks.

To no surprise Victor drops by the shop, the usual time with the usual skates in hand. He still hasn’t placed what he should say, nor _what_ he should say.

The smile he sends Victor doesn’t reach his eyes.

He’s pretty sure it’s lopsided.

That his lips can’t quite hold it for more than a second.

If Victor notices anything is off about Yuuri, he doesn’t mention it. He’s all stars and sunshine, like always, and before Yuuri can lose himself fully in his anxieties Victor’s taken charge of their conversation, _like always_ , and reminiscing about Saint Petersburg as if nothing had happened.

He can’t tell if the act makes him feel grateful, or upset.

If it’s in consideration of his feelings, or indifference on Victor’s behalf.

When Yuuri hands Victor back his skates, he pushes forward the courage to tell Victor about the little girl from the other day. He tells him that another skater in the club talked to her instead, and of how captivated she seemed.

He doesn’t tell him it was him.

Victor loses himself to thought, and Yuuri notes a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. Victor voices as much, wishing he could have been there for them.

He catches himself wondering why.

Was he disappointed because he cared, or was it out of vain pride?

He doesn’t ask.

He can’t see the latter. He’s too gentle – teasing, yes, but gentle and kind and patient nonetheless.

He wonders when he became an expert in Victor Nikiforov to defend him such, or if this is the fan in Yuuri speaking out.

It doesn’t matter; it’s not his place to prescribe who Victor Nikiforov is to be.

Victor pats him on the shoulder when he goes to leave, and Yuuri winces, the bruises there still fresh. Victor loses himself to his thoughts again, just for a moment, and then he’s apologizing sheepishly and walking out the door, and that’s that.

Thursday passes even more listlessly than any of the days past, with even far less developments to note. None, if you ignore selling a magazine and sharpening a pair of skates.

When he gets home, he’s tired to say the least. Phichit’s lying on the couch, hamsters pattering to and fro on his chest, scrolling through his phone, and all but jumps off the couch at the sound of Yuuri opening their front door.

“I’m home.” Yuuri kicks off his shoes.

“Welcome home~!” Phichit chimes as he makes to lean against the closet door. “How was work?”

“Quiet.”

Phichit makes a mumbled sound in response, and the two wade in relative silence for a couple of minutes as Yuuri strips himself of his layers. It’s weird having Phichit so quiet, but at the moment he’s not entirely adverse to it.

“The fridge is practically empty. I’m making a grocery list, is there anything you want?” He eventually supplies.

“Mm… I dunno. Anything in the flyers?”

At that, Phichit lights up and stumbles back to the couch then shuffles through a wad of papers, pulls one out, and flashes it in front of Yuuri.

“I was thinking we stock up and even do something special for dinner tomorrow!” He’s practically beaming.

“…Pork?” Yuuri says, staring at the flyer. It’s circled in bold black marker alongside a bunch of explanation points and stars, and he has to admit that it’s on sale for a pretty good price but… “I’ll have to go to the store when they open; they’re going to run out quick.”

“You mean _‘we’_. I’m not letting you go grocery shopping on your own.”

“But–”

“No buts.”

“ _Yes_ buts. What about your training? I don’t work in the mornings, it’s fine.”

“A ‘no’ is a ‘no’, Yuuri,” Phichit pouts. “I’ve already called Ciao Ciao to tell him I’m starting late. And pork because we need the protein and I’ve been really craving your katsudon, hence something special,” he adds with a proud smirk.

Yuuri was about to protest more on Phichit joining along but the mention of katsudon makes him lose his train of thought.

“M- _My_ katsudon?”

“ _Come on_ , please? _Pretty please?_ It’s been so long and it’s so good and you’ve been really down this past week and I know it makes you happy so _pleeeeaase?_ ”

Yuuri sighs in defeat. He doesn’t deserve it – it’s reserved for when he wins – but it does sound good, he has no competition _to_ win, no training to worry about, and his one source of impulse control left in his company is plainly and determinedly encouraging it.

“…Fine.”

“Yay!!” Phichit jumps in glee, then immediately starts apologizing profusely to his shoulder when he realizes he’s still got a lone straggler hanging on to him for dear life.

Yuuri chuckles softly to himself, shaking his head as he plops down on the couch (careful not to sit down on any of the other hamsters wandering about) and starts to flip through the flyers Phichit had left on the table.

“Hey, Phichit?” He says after a few minutes of listening to the sounds of shuffling paper and his roommate’s apologies.

 Phichit stops his flailing and cradles his hamster close to his chest, looking over his shoulder at Yuuri. “Hm?”

“Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear the original intention for chapter 10 was more smiling, happy Yuuri, and somehow that got pushed back another chapter :"""D
> 
> (but soon, hopefully soon, im so sorry Yuuri)
> 
> (If i shorten _Aux alentours_ to AA, I may as well dub it _Angst and Anxiety_ at this point)...


End file.
